Risen
by Shunyata Ryuen
Summary: One of their own is dead, and the seishi are not dealing well. But, what if there were a way to change all that? What if there were a way to bring him back? And, what if it worked? [massive ep 33 spoilers. FINISHED! o.O;;]
1. 1. Memorandum.

**Disclaimer:  **I own nothin' but a hound dogggga...cryin' all the time...  --;;

**Author's Note:**  The concept of this fic was vaguely inspired by an episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer...but, that's all that I'm ripping off, I swear. ^^;;  Also, this is AU in the sense that Ashitare's wolf form did _not_ get the shinzaho and bring it to Nakago, as Tasuki's tessen found him first. ^_~.

**Spoilers: ** Immense ep 33 spoilers. *nod*

**---**

**Risen**

by Ryuen

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

_1.  Memorandum._

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

He'd always been the one to wake her up in the mornings.  

Always so cheerful, so awake even when the dawn was just beginning to creep up over the horizon.  _Ohayoo, Miaka!_  _Nee, get up or I'll drag you out of bed by your ankle!_

Since the day on Mount Black, Chichiri had taken over the job of group alarm clock.

But, gods, it was so difficult.  She appreciated what he was doing, she really did--and, she knew how hard it must be for him, to take on the duty that had _always_ been Nuriko's and suffer through the inevitable reminders of grief in their waking faces...but, it was so hard to remember all that when she was just trickling into consciousness.  When her eyelashes fluttered open, invariably expecting to glimpse wide rosy eyes and a shock of neatly-combed violet hair, and it was Chichiri who stood there instead, Chichiri who offered her a soft, "Ohayoo"--she couldn't help squeezing her eyes closed in anguish and memory.

Because, Nuriko was dead.  Not sleeping, not off in some other room, not back in Konan with Hotohori.  He was dead, and she was never going to see him again.  It was such a difficult concept to fit her mind around, even after having _seen_ him die, having touched the chill, blood-speckled flesh of his chest--having pressed her hands to his cheeks and felt no warmth, no movement, no breath...nothing.  And, it was the nothing that scared her, the nothing that haunted her dreams.  How could Nuriko just...leave?  How could his eyes go dark?  How could those strong, beautiful hands go limp?  How could he let himself be taken over by this nothing and dragged away from her just when she was beginning to realize how important he was?  
  


It didn't seem fair.

She was aware, at length, of the familiar hand on her shoulder, of the soft, "Ohayoo," echoing in her ears.  The rest of the inn was blanketed in the thick silence of morning, dark and cool and still, and she was fairly certain that she could catch the faint buzz of Tasuki's snoring coming from across the hall.   
  


"Arrigato, Chichiri," she murmured.  "Demo...I'm awake."  
  


She turned over in the bed, the blankets in tangles around her body, and gazed up into the single, unmasked eye of the oldest of her seishi.  

Chichiri's lips twisted slightly downwards.  "Did you not sleep again no da?"  
  


Miaka closed her eyes.  _How can I sleep?  How can I sleep when it doesn't change anything, when I keep waking up and this isn't a dream??_

The monk, apparently taking her lack of answer as the confession it was, sighed softly and lowered himself onto the edge of the bed.  The mattress shifted beneath him, lifting Miaka a few inches into the air--drawing her closer to the sky that Nuriko had been returned to.

God, she missed him.  Every thought inevitably funnelled into the reality of his absence--every step seemed to draw her nearer to the crest of Mount Black, to where Nuriko lay buried forever beneath the snow.  It'd been so hard to leave him there, so hard to clutch the shinzaho in her fingers and step past the charred corpse of that wolf and begin the trek back down the mountain without one of her seishi--without her _friend_.   But, she'd done it, ne?  She'd been strong--because _he'd_ always been strong.  Nuriko had never faltered, never faded, never wavered--even when his own life was on the line.  _Especially_ when his own life was on the line.  So, she owed it to him to be strong, didn't she?

"Miaka," Chichiri said quietly, "you can't go on like this na no da."

She said nothing.  What was there to say?  He was right, of course.  
  


"You're Suzaku no Miko," he went on firmly.  "You have one of the shinzaho now, hai, but...you have to leave here and get the other no da, or Nuriko's sacrifice is meaningless."  
  


She jerked back as if she'd been struck.  "It's _not_ meaningless!" she cried, sitting up in the bed and clutching at the sheets and trying to fight back the sudden onslaught of tears.  "It's not meaningless!  It isn't!  It never will be!  It..."  Her voice broke.  "It's not meaningless.  Please..."  
  


Chichiri was quiet for a long time, the mask hanging limp in his fingers, his good eye blank and abstracted against the far wall.  "I miss him, too, no da," he said at last.  His voice was barely audible against the crackling of the fire, the rhythmic hum of Tasuki's snores.  "Nuriko was...the first one to ask about my mask no da.  He was the first one to know of my past."  
  


Miaka stared at him.  "He...you talked about it with him?"  
  


Chichiri's head bent, and his eye drifted lightly closed.  "Hai.  We...exchanged secrets no da.  It...made it easier to tell you no da, after talking to him about it.  Demo."  His voice hardened.  "Demo, even if it hurts, we can't afford to stay here any longer no da.  Nuriko wouldn't have wanted us to linger from our duties because of him.  He died...so you could have that, Miaka."  His finger lifted from the edges of the mask, touched at the sparkling jewels of the shinzaho that dangled from her neck.  "It's in your hands no da.  Don't let his death be for nothing.  Nuriko...deserves better than that no da."  
  


The tears were hot in her eyes.  She pressed her palms against her face, trying to quell the inevitable flood, but it was difficult and she was so tired and Nuriko--God, Nuriko...  "But, I don't want to leave him," she whimpered.  "As long as we're here--as long as we're close to him...then, there's still hope!  Don't you understand?  As long as we're still here, then, he...he..."  
  


Strong arms surrounded her, then, folded her into an unfamiliar but appreciated embrace.  "I know."  The monk's voice was soft in her ears, his breath warm against her cheeks.  Suddenly lost in the tears, Miaka clung to Chichiri, her head nestled in the hollow of his shoulder, and wept softly against his shirt.  "I know," he repeated softly.  "As long as we're here no da...then, there's still hope of it being a mistake.  There's still hope of him...coming back."

"But..."  Her voice was thick with tears.  "But, he's not...coming back...is he, Chichiri?"  
  


He hesitated for just long enough for her to notice it, his eye squeezed shut and his arms tense around her, for just long enough for the hope to rekindle in her heart--and, then:  "No.  Nuriko's...not coming back."  
  


She was so tired of crying, so tired of having to be held--but, the tears were coming, again, and there was nothing she could do to stop them.  They came.  Chichiri held her until they fizzled out, speaking soothing words and rubbing gently at her back, and then he lowered her onto the bed, drew the covers up around her, and told her to sleep.

Feeling exhausted and spent, Miaka wanted nothing more than to do just that, but...  "D-Demo, what about the sh--"  
  


"Hush na no da.  We'll spend one more day here.  You need to rest.  Don't worry no da--we'll wake you in a few hours.  Until then--"  The monk took a long step backwards, gripped the door handle and began to tug it closed.  "--sleep no da."  
  


The weariness was already dragging her eyelids downwards.  She nodded, managed a sleepy, "'rigato..."

And, then, the darkness folded around her like comforting arms, and Miaka drifted into sleep.

~*~

It was like an obsession.  

Why was it affecting him so much?  Why couldn't he sleep?  Why couldn't he eat?  Why couldn't he focus on anything without his mind inevitably wandering to that marked mound of snow, high on the top of Mount Black?  For that matter, why was all his energy focused on the _impossible?_  

It was so unlike him, to be distracted like this.  He was always focused, always intent on his goals.  It was that very single-mindedness that had served him so well over the course of his thirteen years, that had driven him to ignore the call of his seishi side for as long as he did, opting instead to stick with his studies, complete the grueling exams before joining his miko.  And, now, what was that single-mindedness doing for him?  

Chiriko sighed, thudding his chin down onto his hands and breathing in the bitter tang of dried ink and old, mildewed pages.  This was where it left him.  Holed up in the Tolan library for hours on end, searching for a thread so small that it barely registered in his mind--and, yet, a thread so important that he found it difficult to think of anything else.  Where had he even heard about the _kaisei_ _no mahou_?  The exact moment seemed fuzzy and blurred in his mind, like a half-remembered dream, and the more he tried to focus on it, the farther away it slipped.  Who had told him?  Why?  When?  There was nothing.

And, yet, the knowledge itself was as clear as anything else in his mind--clearer, perhaps.  It had first been performed eighty years earlier, following the untimely death of Hokkan-koku's emperor's young son.  The empress had died giving birth to the child, five years earlier, and Heika had never remarried--had never been interested in remarrying.  With the subsequent death of his only child and heir, his advisors had been thrown into a frenzy--he would not remarry, he would not partake in the conception of another heir, and he would not name a successor.  What was there to do?  
  


And, then--or so claimed the memory of the story within his mind--a sorcerer had arrived at the palace, claiming to be a master of the arts of _kaisei_--the arts of resurrection.  Naturally, the advisors had been skeptical of the man's abilities, and even more skeptical of his claims that he would resurrect the emperor's lost son for nothing more than room and board at the palace.  Yet, left with no other choices, the advisors had drawn the boy's body up from the earth, laid it out before the traveler, and then left the man to his own devices.  And, blessed gods, not fifteen minutes later, the boy was alive and awake and smiling, and the sorcerer was leaning against the wall looking drained but pleased. 

It had worked.  The boy had been dead...and, then, he had not been dead.

_Death is not the end.  There is -still- hope. _

He had tried crying.  He had tried acceptance.  He had tried, even, putting thoughts of Nuriko out of his mind, focusing instead on plotting out the route to Sairo, on helping Chichiri to gather the provisions they would be needing.  But, as long as that shred of doubt still lingered in his mind--as long as memory told him that it was _possible_, that they might be able to bring him _back..._  Acceptance was impossible.  All that was left to him was this--sitting here on a splintery wooden chair and scanning volume after volume for some mention of _kaisei no mahou._  

Realizing that Nuriko was dead was the easy part.  It was getting rid of the hope that was hard.

~*~

Fuck.  He needed to get out of here.

Miaka was sleeping--fuckin' great for her--Chiriko was off holed up in the library again, and the rest of 'em were hanging around the inn's common room like a bunch'a old men or somethin', staring at the fire or talking in soft tones or fucking playing cards.  What the hell was wrong with them?  Why'd they wanna stay in here, in a place where Nuriko'd walked and Nuriko'd slept and Nuriko'd lived, instead'a goin' out there and moving on, getting back into action so maybe it wouldn't hurt so much?  

After awhile, he just couldn't take it anymore.  

"I'm goin' out," he growled, grabbing his jacket up from the hearth and stalking past his friends.  He could feel their eyes on him--especially Chichiri's--but, he didn't look back.  A minute later, his hand was on the knob and he was ripping it open and stalking out into the snow, and since no one was making a move to stop him, he guessed that they were just as numb as he was, but number because they couldn't find the will to get up and _move_...  

And, then, there was a blur of movement in front of him, and something slammed into him hard.

He'd closed the door behind him, but he doubted any of the others would've noticed even if he hadn't--which was good, he guessed, since lying on his back on the ground wasn't exactly the kinda place he wanted his friends to see him in.  Shaking the snow from his fiery hair, Tasuki pushed himself into a sitting position, glanced around in search of whatever the hell'd run into him--

--and frowned.  "Chiriko?"

"Sumimasen, Tasuki-san!" the boy exclaimed.  "I must not've been watching where I was going."  
  


Chiriko was on his knees in the snow, frantically gathering the papers he'd dropped before the wind could snatch them away.  A little shaken up but unhurt, Tasuki moved to the boy's side and stretched out a hand to help.

The kid's eyes went as wide as saucers.  "Iie, iie!" he cried.  "I-I can pick them up, Tasuki-san.  Don't trouble yourse--"  
  


But, it was too late.  Tasuki pulled one of the faded parchment pieces up in front of his eyes, stared at it in breathless shock for a minute before he could find the will to speak.  "_K...Kaisei no Mahou?_" he whispered.  His eyes flew up over the edge of the page, locked onto the guilty-looking thirteen-year-old.  "What the fuck are you doin' with this, Chiriko?  Shit, is this what you've been doin' in that library these last couple days?  Lookin' for fuckin'...fuckin' _resurrection magic?_ What the hell're you thinking?"  
  


Chiriko stared at him for a long time, silent and guilty...and then he rose to his feet, stretched out a hand, and ripped the parchment page from Tasuki's fingers.  A fire burned in his eyes, making him look older, stronger--formidable.  "It's possible," he said.  His voice was hard and shook only slightly.  "It's possible to bring him back, Tasuki-san."  
  


Despite himself, the bandit felt a shiver work up his spine.  "You...you can't be fuckin' serious, Chiriko."  
  


"I am.  I've...I've been researching it, and...and, it _is_ possible. It's worked before!  And--"  An almost-crazed light flared in the boy's eyes, made Tasuki wonder just how much sleep the kid'd been getting recently.  "--I know how to do it, now, Tasuki-san!  I know how to do it!  I know--"  His voice sank to a low, excited whisper.  "I know how to bring Nuriko-san back!"

~*~

**Notes:**  My, wasn't that angsty?  Well, I've got loooads of plans for this fic, muwahahaha, so expect to be seeing more of it soon.  Until then, however, feel free to leave me a review and let me know what you think.  ^_~.  And, now, to assuage some of the tension:

ANNNNNNNN AKUGI!  --;;

**Ryuen:**  *dramatic voice*  It was the nothing that scared her.  The nothing that haunted her dreams...

**Atreyu:**  AHHHHHH!!  The Nothing!  Quickly, help me get my stupid horse out of the mud!  
  


**Jonathan Brandis:**  Eh, who cares.  You get replaced in the sequel, anyway.

**Atreyu:**  B-B-B-But, that's not fair!  I'm far better looking than that weird indian kid!

**Ryuen:**  *sigh*  I know.  But, hey, look on the bright side.  The sequel sucked, anyway.

**Jonathan Brandis:**  *pouts*  
  


**Atreyu:**  Heh, heh, heh.  Take that, Seaquest Boy.

--;;; (Caffeinated individuals should not write akugis.  *firm nod*)


	2. 2. Resurrection - Part I

**Disclaimer:  **See previous chapter for the depressing details. --;;

**Notes:**  Beware of Tasuki-language, angst, and complex resurrection rituals.  And, kids, I don't care if you _are_ a certified genius with tragic past issues, do _not_ try this at home. ^_~.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

_2.  Resurrection._

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Chiriko, this is fuckin' _nuts_.  Listen to yourself!  You don't really think this's fuckin' _possible_, do ya?"  
  


Despite Tasuki's protests, they'd reentered the inn, slipped past their near-catatonic companions, and then trekked upstairs to the room Chiriko shared with Mitsukake.  The boy, after tugging shut the window curtains and bolting the door, had dropped a doeskin satchel onto the floor, flopped down beside it, and begun pulling out various objects--candles, flint, a pouch of sand, and three small, round black stones.  

Now, the young seishi was spreading the candles around him in a rough circle, his legs folded carefully beneath him, his brow slightly furrowed as if in concentration.

"Tasuki-san."  He sounded weary.  "Do you...do you want Nuriko-san back?"  
  


Tasuki pressed his back up against the wall, arms folded over his chest, and stared at the boy with pain in his eyes.  "Of...of _course_, I want 'im back," he admitted quietly.  "But...but, _shit_, Chiriko, this isn't gonna work! It's fuckin' nuts!"  
  


The boy stared at him placidly.  "Tasuki-san, please keep your voice down.  And--"  He sighed.  "--if it doesn't work, then what's the harm?  But...but, if it works...  If it _works_, Tasuki-san..."  
  


The flame-haired bandit bit down on his lower lip and looked away.  "It's not fuckin' gonna work," he mumbled.  

And, suddenly, Chiriko was standing there in front of him, small hands clutching at the sides of his shirt, eyes wide and urgent and wavering with..._tears?_  "Tasuki-san," Chiriko exclaimed.  "_Please._  I-I can only do this once and if you keep talking, you'll distract me and then it might not work and I can't let that happen!"  The boy stood there for another moment, frozen, and then he seemed to realize just what he was doing and took a long step back, disentangled his fingers from the bandit's tunic.  "Sumimasen," he whispered.  His head was bent towards the floor, the waver of candlelight casting one side of his face into shadow.  "Sumimasen.  Demo...Nuriko-san can't stay dead.  W-We need all the seishi."

Frowning and feeling a little shaky, Tasuki took a small step forward, paused just beside the ring of candles to stare down at his young companion.  The boy had folded his legs beneath him again and was drawing flame onto the last two wicks, murmuring words that were too soft to hear.  It was difficult not to notice the way the small fingers trembled as they moved, or the slight quiver that had crept into the boy's voice.

"Ch...Chiriko," Tasuki managed after a moment.  He dropped onto his knees on the splintery floorboards, raised a hand to touch the child's shoulder.  "Wha...what's goin' on with ya, huh, Chiriko?  I mean...I want 'im back, too, but...but, seriously, this is nuts.  It's fuckin'_ impossible_.  Once you're dead...you're dead."

Chiriko went rigid beneath his hand, and the low murmurs stopped.  When he spoke, he kept his eyes on the floor, his face turned frontwards and away from Tasuki.  "Iie," he said, very clearly.  "Iie, Tasuki-san.  I'm going to bring him back."  The bandit was aware of the child's fingers moving, slid forward so he could glimpse just what he was doing--

And, froze.  There, pressed between Chiriko's fingers, was the glossy, otherwordly parchment that Miaka had captured all of their images on--a _photograph_, she'd called it.  Except, Chiriko was slicing at it with the blade of a small knife, tearing away at the material in neat, precise strokes.  Once this task was completed to his satisfaction, the boy crumpled the rest of the photograph into a noisy ball, then tossed it over his shoulder and let it roll beneath Mitsukake's bed.  Tasuki, however, didn't see where it landed, as his eyes were locked on what remained in the boy's shaking fingers.

It was Nuriko.

He looked...so happy.  One slim hand was pressed to the side of his face, cupping the curve of his cheek--the bracelets that Miaka now wore glittered from his wrists, hinting at their power while emphasizing, at the same time, the excessive thinness of the wrists they adorned.  The eighteen-year-old's hair, meanwhile, hung in soft violet tufts about his face, and his eyes were squeezed into slits of pure, unshadowed happiness.  

The familiar lump formed in his throat, and he had to sit back.  "Wh-what's that for?" he breathed.

Chiriko didn't look at him, and his voice was so soft as to be nearly inaudible.  "It's to guide the magic to Nuriko-san's spirit."  He lifted the Nuriko-shaped photograph, placed it carefully between the three stones so it stood upright.  Next to it, he dropped a tiny clump of violet hair that he'd drawn from his pocket--a part of Nuriko's braid??  When had he...?

"I'm ready to start, Tasuki-san," Chiriko said quietly.  "Could you go stand by the door and make sure no one comes in?"

A slight breath of air swept in from behind them, made the candles waver.  "Too late, na no da."  
  


Startled, the pair spun.  Chichiri stood with his back pressing against the closed--and, still bolted, for that matter--door, arms folded lightly over his chest.  His mask was off and nowhere to be seen, thus giving the two seishi a more-than-telling view of the sorrow and grief and pain dragging at his features.  

"Ch-Chichiri-san!" Chiriko exclaimed a little breathlessly.  "B-Boku w--"  
  


"Iie no da," the monk said.  His voice were soft, as if he couldn't find the will to speak any more loudly, but it cut through the boy's words as effectively as if he'd shouted.  "Iie.  Chiriko...you can't do this no da."

The boy slapped his hands down onto the floor, bent over them and let out a frustrated breath.  "Why does everyone keep saying that?" he demanded.  "I-It's like no one wants him back!"  
  


Tasuki winced.  "Fuck, that's not it!  O...Of course, we want 'im back.  But...but, this is crazy!"  
  


Azure bangs dangling over his eternally-closed eye, Chichiri took a few steps forward.  His arms dropped to his sides as he moved, and Tasuki was startled to see the collection of half-moon-shaped wounds on the monk's forearms.  They looked like the imprints of...fingernails?    
  


"Chiriko," the monk said gently, "we're all upset no da.  We're all grieving.  But, we have to move on.  Nuriko is dead--he's been returned to the sky, to Suzaku.  To take him back for our own selfish reasons no da...it would be wrong."

Tasuki blinked.  "You...you mean it's fuckin' _possible?_  We could..."  His words fizzled out, and it was a long moment before he could find them again.  "_We could really bring him_ _back?_"

The reddish brown eye snapped shut.  "Hai no da.  It's possible."  
  


"Well, _fuck_, why don't we, then!?  Shit, I didn't think we could actually...  We gotta bring him back!  'Chiri, you know he'd fuckin' want us to bring him back!"  
  


"It's not...that simple no da."  
  


"Simple?  _Simple?_"  Tasuki leapt to his feet, determination churning like flames in his eyes, and advanced on the monk, grabbed onto his collar and tugged it upwards.  "He can fuckin' bring Nuriko _back_, and you don't want 'im to?  Why?  Fuckin' _why?_"

The monk's eyebrows pushed against each other, and his lips pulled just slightly downwards.  "Because," he murmured, "dying is not like sleeping no da.  It...changes a person.  If we brought Nuriko back, there's no guarantee that he would be the Nuriko we knew na no da.  And, there's a very good chance...that he would hate us for it."  
  


"Hate us?  Why the hell would he?"  
  


The eye flared open, bored into Tasuki with flames of its own.  "He feels no pain now, Tasuki.  He feels no heartache and no anger and nothing but happiness and contentment and peace.  If we were to bring him back...he would have to leave all that no da.  He would have to leave his...his _sister_.  And, there is no guarantee, once a soul is pulled back from the Sky, that it can ever go back no da."  
  


Tasuki's fingers went limp, dropped from their hold on Chichiri's collar and thudded down to his sides.  "You mean..."  His voice was very soft.  "You mean, if we brought 'im back...he might not be able to...to get back up there again when he died?"  
  


"Hai no da.  If Nuriko's soul were brought back now, there's no telling what would happen if he were killed again.  He might just...fade away into nothingness no da.  There's just...too much at stake no da, to risk trying to bring him back.  It would b--"  
  


He broke off.  The breath seemed suddenly to be stilled in his lungs, and his eye to be frozen in a wide, unseeing stare--he looked, Tasuki found himself thinking, almost exactly as Miaka had when she'd been encased in ice by the Genbu shichiseishi.  He was just opening his mouth to ask the monk what was going on when it hit him.  
  


Chiriko.  They'd...they'd forgotten about Chiriko.  

Tasuki spun, following the shocked stare of his companion, and felt the breath trickle from his lungs in a flood of dry, stale air.  Chiriko had turned away from them, now sat with his back to them, his hands moving slowly through the air in a pattern of distinct, rhythmic symbols.  And, if the low, barely-audible hum was anything to judge by, the boy was chanting.  

"Shit!" he cried.  "Shit, Chiriko, sto--"  
  


A hand clamped over his mouth, muffled the rest of his words.  "Quiet na no da," came Chichiri's tense whisper in his ear.  "He's already begun the ritual.  If anything interrupts him, now...bad things could happen to Nuriko no da."  
  


"But...but, what about what you said--??"

"Shh.  There's nothing to be done about it now, no da.  It's..."  The monk gave a heavy sigh, and Tasuki couldn't help but notice the hopeless anguish that crept into his tone.  "It's too late."

~*~

**Notes:**  Big gomen ne that this chapter is so short.  The reason it is is because...well, it's not finished yet. ^_~.  However, I wanted to post it simply because I'm not sure when I'll be getting the chance to write more.  Thus!  Here it is.  Part 2 of Chapter 2 will be up as soon as I write it.  Until then, dooooo leave a revieeeeew and Iiiii'll love youuuuu.  Arrigato. ^_~.     


	3. 2. Resurrection - Part II

**Disclaimer**:  Otnay inemay.  Amnday.

**Notes & Warnings: ** Obviously, spoilers for ep 33...but, if you're on the second part of chapter two, then probably you've already been spoiled, ne? ^_~.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

_2.  Resurrection (II)_

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Miaka awoke to a gentle hand on her shoulder.  She'd been dreaming, of a bright spot of light flashing against a thick darkness; of a pale hand, rising up above a blanket of snow...but, even now, she could feel the dream fading, and so she let it go, and opened her eyes.  

"T...Tamahome?"  
  


Tamahome stood above her, clad in his beige tunic and pants, arms hanging limply at his sides as if he couldn't find the strength to lift them.  His eyes, she noticed, were dark and rimmed with red, and if the pale splotches on his cheeks were any indication, he'd been crying.  Miaka immediately felt a stab of anguish lance into her heart, had to hold her breath to keep the cry from fleeing her lips.  

The tears of the others affected her, made her hurt for them...but, Tamahome's tears were like knives against her soul.  It was almost a palpable pain, starting in the pit of her stomach and branching upwards with claws that made it difficult to draw breath without sobbing.  She swallowed the longing to weep, though, and pulled herself into a sitting position on the bed; the blankets clumped at her waist, pooled out over her legs and dangled off the bed.  And, after a few seconds, Tamahome spoke.  

"Miaka," he said.  His voice sounded choked, and his eyes, while riveted to her face, seemed very far away.  "Miaka, something's...something's happened.  Ch...Chiriko..."  His words faded, and he seemed to struggle for a moment.  
  


Miaka felt her blood go cold.  "N...Nan da, Tamahome?" she asked in a small, shaky voice.  "Chiriko isn't...I mean...onegai...he isn't...?"  
  


The seventeen-year-old's eyes snapped back into focus, and he finally seemed to _see_ her as he looked at her.  "Ah, iie, iie!  Chiriko's fine.  But..."  His eyes squeezed shut.  "But, he...did something, Miaka.  Something that...that wasn't...good."  
  


The girl frowned.  "Tamahome?  What is it?  What did he do?"  
  


Before he could answer, however, there was the slow creak of the door behind him sliding open, and Miaka was suddenly aware of a great warmth spreading over her skin, of something bright and familiar flashing like a streak of lightning in her mind...

And, then, Tamahome moved to the side, and everything went blurry.

He was moving slowly, gingerly, as if just getting accustomed to using the muscles in his arms and legs.  Cropped strands of violet hair brushed lightly against his slim shoulders, whispered against the curve of his cheek, dangled just above the dark rose of his eyes; his arms, just as deceptively-slim as she remembered them, had been folded lightly over the flatness of his chest, and his lips were bent into a small, almost hesitant smile.

He...he was...he was...

Tears swam in her eyes, trickled over her cheeks and bathed her lips in the taste of salt.  "I-It's not fair," she whispered, hanging her head, not looking at him, not looking at anything but her shaking fingers and the warm brown of the blanket.  "I-It's not fair.  Dreams aren't allowed to feel this real..."  
  


A blur of blue and ribboned gold swam into her vision, then, and suddenly there were warm, strong hands on her shoulders, familiar eyes peering up into her own.  

"Miaka," Nuriko said softly, and she could see that there were tears on his cheeks, that the hands on her shoulders were trembling, just slightly.  "It's not a dream.  I'm...here."  
  


Could...could it actually be true?  Could it...could he really...could he really be...?

Carefully, cautiously, Miaka raised her eyes from the blanket, stared at the boy who knelt beside her bed with a mix of suspicion and hope in her eyes.  She lifted a hand, touched it to the smooth curve of Nuriko's cheek, felt the warmth of his skin and the slight vibration of his breathing.  Slowly, she slid her fingers down to the dulled point of his chin, up over the rise of his lips and the curve of his nose and finally stopped just beneath his left eye, her finger pressed to the small, distinctive mole that rested there.  

_This mole.  Nuriko's mole.  These eyes...  Nuriko's eyes.  Nuriko's..._

And, things suddenly went blurry again.

"Nuriko!" Miaka cried.  She threw herself forward, wrapped her arms tightly around his chest and clutched him close for a long moment.  "Nuriko...Nuriko...you're alive!  You're alive!"

He spoke into her ear, then, his breath warm against her skin.  From the choked waver to it, she knew that he was crying, too.  "Hai," he whispered.  "I'm alive."

"But...how?  How is it possible?"  She sat back, noticed for the first time the twinge of pain to Nuriko's features, the shadow that seemed to have fallen over his eyes.  "I...you died, Nuriko.  How can you be...alive again when you _died?_"  
  


Soft footsteps padded into the room; she knew from the clack of beads and the jingle of the staff that it was Chichiri, even before he spoke.  "Chiriko...brought him back from the dead no da."  
  


Miaka's eyes went wide.  "Chiriko??  How?"  
  


"There'll be plenty of time to talk about that later, ne, Chichiri?" Nuriko said, turning to smile gently at the young monk.  "I'm _starving..._"

The two seishi stared at each other for a long moment, and Miaka got the impression that there was more passing between them than just dinner plans...but, then, Chichiri smiled.  His head dipped into a slight nod, and a moment later, he'd fixed the mask back into place over his features.  "Hai, all right," he said brightly.  "Let's go downstairs then, no da.  I know the others are eager to see you no da."  
  


Miaka blinked.  "You haven't seen everybody else, yet?"  
  


Nuriko turned back to her, a small smile bending at his lips.  "Iie.  Chichiri was there when I--"  His voice went soft for a moment.  "--woke up...and, he brought us straight here."  The smile lifted, and Nuriko's gaze slid downwards with a slight blush.  "I'm anxious to see everyone else, of course...but, I wanted to see you first, Miaka."  
  


Something clenched at her heart, and before she'd given it much thought, she was off the bed and in his arms again, and from the slight _oof!-thud_ that followed, it was fairly obvious that she'd knocked him onto his back.  But, it was okay.  It was okay...because, Nuriko was alive.  His laughter rang in her ears, punctuated by an occasional soft cough, and when she opened her eyes and lifted herself up off of him, he grinned and kissed her on the cheek and held her close again.

"It's so good to see you again, Miaka," he said fervently, releasing her.  And, then, he winked.  "Now, ne, let's get downstairs!  Being dead sure makes a guy hungry."  
  


All the appetite she'd lost since Nuriko's death flooded back into her, then, and her stomach let out an enthusiastic growl.  "Hai!" she exclaimed.  "Let's go eat!!"

~*~

The doctor's hands were cold on his chest..._but, not colder than the suffocating snows of Mount Black; not colder than the icy sensation of the blood draining from his body, the life trickling out into the chill air..._

"Well," said Mitsukake, snapping him out of his thoughts, "you don't seem to be injured anywhere.  Your heart beat is a little faster than it should be, but then that might be a side effect of...what you've been through."  The elder seishi took a long step back, started packing his medical equipment into the small satchel he carried with him.  On his shoulder, Tama-neko gave an encouraging, "Mreow!"

Nuriko let out a soft, exhausted sigh, then sat down hard on the bed and grabbed for his tunic.  He was just pulling it out in front of him, ready to tug it back on over his bare chest, when something like a shudder ran through his body.  

_The monster's claws had torn through the soft blue fabric of his tunic, ripped outwards with a fine mist of crimson that came from inside of him, was warm with his life and his blood and he could feel the monster shifting underneath him, breathing hard and moving a little and every time he moved he could -feel- it inside of him, because the claws were still in him and the hand was still pushing up on his back, holding him into the air like a prize, his legs dangling and his arms hanging and his head lolled back towards the sky and--_

"Nuriko, are you all right?"  
  


He opened his eyes--when had he even closed them??--and managed a weak smile.  "Ahh...gomen ne, Mitsukake.  I'm...I'm just tired, that's all."

The man was frowning, kneeling there on the floor in front of him with the dark blue of his eyes narrowed in concern.  He drew in a breath, opened his mouth to say something...and then promptly shut it again.  "Get some rest, then, Nuriko," he said quietly, giving a small, gentle smile.  "Although, after what you've been through, I wouldn't think you'd want to lie down again for awhile."  
  


The healer rose from the floor, giving the smaller seishi a gentle pat on the shoulder, and then turned and started walking towards the door--

"Ne...Mitsukake?" 

He stopped, turned back and raised a quizzical eyebrow.  "Hai?"  
  


"Did...did Miaka get the shinzaho?  After I...died?"  
  


Mitsukake stared at him for a moment in surprise...and, then, he smiled and gave a slight nod.  "Hai, Nuriko.  She got it."  
  


He let out a great sigh, closed his eyes in relief.  "Good.  I'm...I'm glad."  
  


"You know," the healer said after a moment, "what you did was unbelievably stupid.  If you had waited and not moved that boulder when you had, I might've--"  His voice sounded suddenly choked.  "--reached you in time."

Nuriko felt himself go pale.  "No," he murmured.  "No, you...you wouldn't have been able to do anything, Mitsukake."  
  


The healer frowned.  "What do you mean?"  
  


_It was like a hand on his throat, cold and clinging, and he knew--_knew knew knew_--that nothing could save him now, nothing could pry away that hand now that it had found him..._

"Death was...inside of me," he said softly.  "I _knew_ I was going to die, and nothing you could've done would've saved me."

Mitsukake said nothing for a few moments, studying him with those narrow, intelligent eyes...and, then, he nodded slightly.  "It must've been difficult, knowing that."

"Not...not really.  I mean, it's not that I _wanted_ to die, but..."  A slight smile touched his lips, and he let his eyes slide open.  "But, I remember that a part of me was happy to go, because I was helping Miaka, and because I would...I would be..."  He faltered.

The doctor nodded.  "Because you would be reunited with your sister," he concluded.

Nuriko felt a jolt run through him, and the tunic slipped from his fingers in his shock, dropped lightly to the floor.  "My...my sister?" he echoed with a frown.  "Mitsukake..."  He shook his head.  "You know I don't _have_ a sister."

~*~

Notes:  Yay, part II of chapter 2 is finnnnnnnnnito!  Chapter three will follow as…erm…soon as I write it. :)  Until then, leave a review, and let me know what you think! ^_~.


	4. 3. Blurry.

**Disclaimer:**  Fushigi Yuugi wa watashi no ja nai.  Kuso.

**Notes & Warnings:**  Tasuki language, angsty stuff, and Miaka getting shrill. ^^;;

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

_3. Blurry.  _

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Where is he now no da?"  
  


Mitsukake folded his hands on the blotchy wood of the table, and his big shoulders heaved in a sigh.  "He's sleeping.  I gave him linden blossom to help, since I don't think he would've slept otherwise."

Miaka, seated next Tamahome at the opposite end of the long table, slapped her hands down on the wood, stared at the healer almost challengingly.  "I don't understand!" she exclaimed a little shakily.  "H-How could he not remember Kourin?  He's..."  Her voice went soft.  "He's lived almost his entire life because of her.  How can he just not remember her??"  
  


The doctor's shoulders slumped a bit, and he rubbed for a moment at the bridge of his nose.  "I'm not certain.  It could just be a temporary form of amnesia, caused by the stress of being brought back, but...I can't be sure.  It isn't as if I've dealt with this sort of thing before."  
  


Tamahome, who had been staring at his clasped hands on the table, raised his head.  "Chichiri," he said quietly, "what about you?  Do you know anything about this?"  
  


The monk's head drooped slightly.  "I know a little no da...but, not enough to explain this.  The only other time I've ever heard of this sort of thing being performed successfully was a very long time ago no da.  An emperor's young son was brought back after having been dead for several weeks no da."  
  


Miaka's eyes were wide.  "What happened?"  
  


"The son had been dead for too long," he said, very softly.  "A day in the Sky passes differently than a day in this world.  It was as if he'd spent a lifetime in a place of paradise, only to be pulled back to earth no da.  He..."  The monk's eye slid painfully shut.  "He killed himself only two months later."  
  


The table went deathly silent.  

"You..."  Miaka shook her head, eyes still wide.  "You don't think...Nuriko..."  She pushed back her chair, made to stand up--

"Iie, Miaka," Mitsukake rumbled.  "I left Tasuki with him.  It's all right.  He's perfectly safe."  
  


Chichiri nodded slightly.  "Besides no da, Nuriko was dead for only a few days--and, he's a shichiseishi no da.  The emperor's son wasn't much older than five.  He didn't understand the consequences no da...but, Nuriko does."  
  


Miaka thudded back into her seat.  

"What about Chiriko?" Tamahome asked.  He shook his head, and it was difficult not to notice that his fingers were trembling, just slightly, on the tabletop.  "How did he know how to do it?  Would he...know how to help Nuriko remember?"  
  


Chichiri was silent for a long time, the background lull of the common room conversation filtering into their ears...and, then, his eye slid open, and he gave Tamahome a measured gaze.  "I'll talk to Chiriko about it no da, but I'm not sure he can help.  There was something that drove him to do this no da, and probably someone who helped him with the ritual...but, until he tells us that, there's no way to know no da.  As for Nuriko..."  His words went soft.  "If this memory lapse goes away no da, then there's nothing to worry about.  But, if it doesn't...then, he probably can't remember for a reason, and to try to _force_ him to remember might harm him no da."

Silence fell again, thick and shadowed with worry, before any could find the will to speak again.

Finally, it was Mitsukake who broke into the silence.  "I realize that this is a difficult time for everyone," he said, glancing at each of the other three in turn, "but, we also can't let ourselves forget the larger picture.  We have the first shinzaho, but without the other, Suzaku can't be summoned.  We've delayed four days.  We can't afford to delay any longer."  
  


Chichiri nodded, strands of blue hair brushing against his scar with the motion.  "Hai no da.  Mitsukake is right.  Summoning Suzaku-sama should be our primary goal, no matter how much we'd like to focus on Nuriko no da.  But..."  His eye drifted to Miaka, locked her into its stare.  "But, there will be risks with getting the other shinzaho no da.  The Seiryuu no shichiseishi could reach it first, and then wait for us to arrive to steal away the other no da.  So...we should split up."  
  


Miaka blinked.  "Split up?"  
  


"Hai.  I can't afford to use too much magic, since Nakago is close no da...but, I can transport you, Nuriko, and the shinzaho back to Konan no da, where you'll all be safe until the rest of us can find the other no da."  
  


Mitsukake made a low noise in his throat.  "Perhaps Chiriko should go with them."  
  


The monk gave the man beside him a brief glance, then nodded.  "Hai, that might be best."  
  


"So," Tamahome said slowly, "that leaves me, Tasuki, and you two to get the other shinzaho."

"That should be more than enough no da.  And, we should be able to move fairly quickly no da, since there will be only four of us."  
  


"But..."  Miaka was frowning, her hands clasping and unclasping on the table in front of her.  "But, I'm Suzaku no Miko.  I should go with you."

"Miaka," Tamahome said in a low voice, "you'll be safer in Konan with Hotohori and Nuriko.  It's going to be dangerous."  
  


"And, this wasn't dangerous?" the girl demanded.  Her eyes blazed with anger, and her voice was climbing slowly upwards in volume.  "It wasn't dangerous, almost drowning when we fell off the boat?  It wasn't dangerous, almost getting eletrocuted by Soi's lightning?  It wasn't dangerous, almost getting killed by that-that Seiryuu monster?  It wasn't dangerous, Tamahome? _ It wasn't dangerous when Nuriko got killed??_"

And, then, without another word, Miaka rose from her chair, folded her arms shakily over her chest, and hurried out of the room.  A few seconds later, they heard the thudding of her shoes on the stairs, and then even that was gone.

And, gradually, life and sound trickled back into the common room.

"She's not taking this well no da," Chichiri murmured once most eyes in the room had abandoned them.  "If that turns out not to be Nuriko no da...I can only imagine how she'll take it."  
  


Tamahome, whose head had found its way onto his folded arms, snapped up from the table.  "Not...not Nuriko?  Chichiri?  What do you mean?"  
  


"_Kaisei no Mahou_ is not simple magic no da.  Even if I didn't have other problems with it, I'd never attempt it myself no da.  Too many things can go wrong.  The soul can come back...changed."  
  


"Changed?"  
  


The monk's head slipped forward into a nod.  "Hai.  Especially if the soul is very close to another soul no da...the summoning can accidentally draw bits and pieces from both souls, instead of just the one no da.  So, it's possible, if Chiriko did something wrong in the summoning no da, that the person upstairs is a combination of Nuriko _and_ his sister, Kourin.  Or, it might be only a small part of Nuriko and bits of a million others no da.  There's just no way to tell."  His eye slid closed.  "And, Nuriko knows that something's not right no da.  But, I don't think he knows what it is."

~*~

He woke up screaming.

The fragments of the dream were scattered in his mind, shards of glass that pricked in painful rhythms against the inside of his skull; they moved too quickly to grasp, but slowly enough to hurt.  There was a girl, a girl with his face, screaming a name that felt like his own but which he couldn't understand or remember; and, there was another girl, this one older, taller, smiling gently and floating before his eyes in a gown that glistened with crimson.  Eyes of glowing amber swam in his vision, also, their depths warm with a loving smile, but despite the flood of emotion pouring from them, he felt nothing.  It was as if he had been numbed, as if he'd been plunged into a pond of icy water and then been expected to feel the tap of a finger on his shoulder; the numbness was too much, the touch not nearly strong enough.  He felt nothing.

And, then, there was the Cold Hand, gripping his throat in horrible memory, dragging him into nothingness...  He thrashed, screaming, trapped in the shadows between sleep and wakefulness, and was only vaguely aware of the sound of a familiar voice, cutting up through his screams.

"Nuriko!" the voice bellowed.  "Nuriko, calm down!  NURIKO!  CALM THE FUCK DOWN!!"  
  


At length, his thrashing slowed; the screams faded into trembling whimpers.  The icy grip of the Hand on his throat melted away, was replaced by warm, strong hands on his shoulders.  And, finally, the darkness bled from his vision, and there was the muted glow of fading afternoon before his eyes, the sight of brandy-brown eyes and fiery tufts of hair. 

Tasuki was kneeling on the bed beside him, gripping onto his shoulders with white-knuckled hands; his face was pale and drawn, and his eyes were wide.  "_Shit_," the bandit breathed.  "Never fuckin' heard anybody scream so much..."  
  


Slowly, Nuriko drew in a breath, let it out in what sounded like a shaky sob.  "I-I'm sorry," he managed.  

He was wet.  Somehow, he brought a trembling hand to his forehead, drew it down over his cheek and discovered that his face was soaked in tears; the rest of his body was bathed in an icy sweat that drenched into his clothes in dark, scattered splotches.

"Shit, Nuriko, are you okay?  You're still fuckin' shaking.  What the hell were ya dreamin' about?"  
  


"I-I-I don't r-remember," he managed through chattering teeth.  Thin arms wrapped tightly over his chest.  "C-Cold..."  
  


Tasuki frowned.  "Well, no fuckin' kidding.  It's freezin' in here already, an' you're fuckin' soaked.  Here, come on.  Get over by the fire and take y'er clothes off."  Tasuki, having been rising from the bed, paused and gave the smaller seishi a narrow stare.  "An' don't fuckin' get any ideas."

"I-Ideas?"

"Ehh, forget it.  C'mon, lemme help ya up."  The seventeen-year-old stretched down an arm, slid it carefully beneath the smaller man's shoulders, and then lifted.  Nuriko was pushed easily into a sitting position, and--after spending a moment peeling the blankets from around his body--swung his legs over the edge of the bed and planted his bare feet on the floor.  A few moments later, the bandit had helped him to the small rug beside the fire and was helping him pull the wet tunic up over his head.

"Ya know," Tasuki said with a slight grin, in the process of spreading the tunic out on the floor, "I still remember the first time I saw you without y'er shirt on.  First time I ever knew for sure you were a fuckin' guy."  He chuckled softly.  "Guess I didn't really believe it until then."  
  


Slim fingers working at the ribbon cinched at his waist, Nuriko paused to look at the bandit.  "Why?"  
  


"Eh?"  Tasuki glanced back at the smaller man over his shoulder, raised an eyebrow.  "Whaddya mean, 'why?'"  
  


Nuriko was frowning.  "Why didn't you know I was a guy?"  
  


"Why didn't I...what the fuck?  How could I?  Ya fuckin' looked like a girl, an' the way you were always hangin' on Hotohori-sama like that--no fuckin' surprise I didn't get that you were a guy at first.  Shit, Nuriko, nobody did."  
  


"Tasuki, what're you talking about?"  
  


"What the fuck do you _mean_, what am I talkin' about?!"

Nuriko's eyebrows came together angrily; his voice was low and irritated.  "I mean, I hear what you're saying but none of it makes sense!  Why would anybody think I wasn't a guy?  It's not like I was running around in a dress or something.  And, Hotohori-sama?  When did I _ever_ hang on him?  And, why would I?  He's a guy!"  
  


Tasuki's mouth dropped open.  "He's...he's a..._what did you just say?_"

"He's a _guy_," Nuriko said with deliberate slowness.  "Or, didn't you notice that, either?"

The bandit stared at him in silence for a long moment, eyes wide and mouth still hanging slightly open, and then he shook his head.  "Nuriko, what the hell is wrong with you?  You _love_ Hotohori-sama.  You have for fuckin' _years_."  
  


The violet-haired seishi gave a sharp laugh. "Love him?  You mean like...like _that?_  He's a good friend, hai, and I care about him...but, Tasuki, seriously!  He's a guy!  I could never love a...a guy.  I mean, I can respect you if you feel that way, but I don't.  I never have."  
  


"I'M NOT THE FUCKIN' OKAMA!" Tasuki bellowed.  "_Shit_, what's wrong with you??  It's like the last fuckin'  years happened different in your head or somethin'!"  
  


"Ne, Tasuki, maybe you should get some sleep."  His eyes narrowed, and the fingers that had been pulling at the hem of his pants immediately tugged it back up.  "I can get undressed by myself, I think.  Thanks for your help, though."  
  


Eyes still wide with shock and anger, the bandit leapt up from the floor, brushed a little violently at the dirt on his pants, and then stalked to the door.  The door slammed closed behind him a second later, and Nuriko was left alone.

~*~

**Author's Note:  **Working as hard as I can to get this thing finished ASAP.  Let me know what you think, ne?  It gives the creative process a shove like you wouldn't believe. ^_~.  And, now, because I have waaaaaaay too much caffeine in my system, annnnnnnn AKUGI!!  ^^;;

---

**Chichiri:  **The soul can come back...changed.

**Tamahome:  **Changed?

**Chichiri:  **Hai.  Especially if the soul is very close to another soul no da, the summoning can accidentally draw bits and pieces from both souls, instead of just one no da.  So, it's possible that the reason Nuriko's been acting so strangely is...

**Miaka:  **Iie!  Onegai, don't say it, Chichiri!  I-It's too horrible to be true!  
  


**Chichiri:  **We must face reality no da.  He could be acting so strangely because he's...

[The monk glances downward, where Nuriko is currently on all fours beneath the table, hunting for scraps.]

**Chichiri: ** ...part Ashitare no da.

**Nuriko:  ***barks loudly*

**Chichiri:**  Ano.  Mitsukake, maybe you should put Tama-neko somewhere safe no da.

[Suddenly, a barefoot Tasuki charges in from the other room.  In his hand are a pair of boots covered in slobber and teeth marks.]

**Tasuki:  **Shit, 'Chiri!  Nuriko chewed up my fuckin' shoes!!

**Chichiri:  **Look on the bright side, Tasuki.  At least he's house-trained no da.

**Tasuki:  ***grumbles*  Big fuckin' comfort.  Hell if I'm gonna walk around Hokkan with a fuckin' pooper scooper...

--;;


	5. 4. Return - Part I

**Disclaimer:  **My disclaimer has a first name, it's N-O-T-M ine.

**Warnings:  **La la, spoilers, brief Tasuki language, Chiriko angst—for you, Kyra!  And, dinnae fret, this is but the tip of the tyke's angsty iceberg. ^_~.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

_4.  Return._

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

He'd been sitting cross-legged beneath the window, a book he'd already read through several times resting in his lap, when the knock came.  It was short and rhythmic, a measured _thud-thud-thud_ that belied a patience and wisdom far above the majority of his companions.  And, that meant...

"Come in, Chichiri-san," the boy called.  His back was to the door, but he could practically see the monk as he entered--bluish hair springing up from his scalp, dangling over the scarred eye that was so rarely covered anymore; prayer beads clacking together against his chest; gilded staff held loosely in his fingers.  

After a measured pause, Chiriko drew the book closed, lifted it into his hands, and set it on the floor.  He was just tensing his leg muscles, preparing to hoist himself into a standing position and greet the elder seishi properly, when Chichiri spoke.

"We missed you at lunch no da."  
  


The boy's shoulders tensed; his hands dropped into his lap.  "I wasn't hungry."  
  


"Chiriko...have you even seen Nuriko no da?"  
  


"N...Not yet."  His voice was small.  "I've been busy...reading up on some things."

There was a rustle of movement from behind him; a moment later, something warm and heavy dropped onto his shoulder.  "Doushite no da?  He's alive again.  Isn't that what you wanted?"

"H-Hai, of course."  Cautiously, he turned his head, offered the seishi who knelt just behind him a wan smile.  "I'm glad it worked.  Nuriko-san didn't...deserve to die like that."  
  


Chichiri's voice was uncharacteristically soft.  "Iya, he didn't no da."  

There was a slight pause, during which Chiriko shrugged gently away from the hand still resting on his shoulder, rose to his feet.  A moment later, he was standing in front of the room's only window, gazing out into the light mist of snow.  "Is he all right, Chichiri-san?" he whispered.  "I heard him...screaming."

 "Tasuki said it was just a bad dream no da."

"But, there's something more to it than that, isn't there, Chichiri-san?"  Chiriko closed his eyes, brought two small fingers up to press against the bridge of his nose.  "There's something...wrong with him."  
  


"What makes you say that no da?"  
  


His hands dropped from his face, fell onto the window sill and gripped it hard.  "Because," he said with some difficulty, "he and Tasuki-san were arguing.  They never argue.  Not like...not like that."  Abruptly, the boy spun around--his eyes were wide and brimming with tears.  "It's my fault, Chichiri-san!  I know that.  But, don't say that I shoudn't have brought him back, because I'm glad that I did!  I'm _glad_ that he's alive again!"  
  


The monk studied him for a moment, then stood and regarded him with one narrowed eye.  "When was the last time you slept no da?"  
  


Startled by the sudden subject change, the boy turned bloodshot eyes to the floor, studied the tensing of his toes against the wood.  "I'm not sure, Chichiri-san."  
  


"And, when was the last time you ate?"  
  


"I-I can't be sure.  I've been busy..."  
  


"Chiriko."  

It was the sternness to the voice that caught his attention; the sternness that drew his gaze up from the floor, trapped him in the monk's gentle stare.  

Chichiri's face was solemn, his voice low and tense.  "I won't pretend to know why you did this no da, even though I'm sure there's a good reason.  But, whatever the reason no da...you can't go on like this.  Nuriko's death was hard on us, hai, but he's started living again.  It's time for you to do the same thing no da."

The boy said nothing.  The tears that had been building in his eyes trickled down over his cheeks, and he slumped to his knees on the floor; Chichiri held him until, exhausted, he drifted into sleep.

~*~

The two of them broke it to Nuriko a few hours later, clustered around his bed like a dying man's last visitors.  Despite what they'd been expecting, he took it surprisingly well.

"_What?!_" he demanded.  "Go back to Konan, _now_, when there's a shinzaho to find and Suzaku to summon?  Are you insane??  I'm a Suzaku no shichiseishi!  I can't afford to go back to Konan at a time like this!!  What kind of man would I be, abandoning my miko like that??"

"Daijobu na no da," Chichiri put in hastily.  The mask was pressed tightly to his face, his voice high and cheery and false.  "Miaka-chan's going back, too no da, along with the first shinzaho."  
  


"Hai," rumbled Mitsukake.  "And, without your strength to guard them, they might both fall into the hands of the Seiryuu shichiseishi."

The monk glanced to his companion in surprise, a slight smile drawing at his lips beneath the mask...and, then, he turned back to Nuriko, studied the younger man closely for a moment.  The rosy-violet eyes were narrowed and thoughtful, the slender fingers folded neatly on a blanketed lap.  For a moment, it seemed he was going to refuse again, demand to be taken along to retrieve the other shinzaho...but, then, finally, he let out a soft sigh and nodded.  "All right," Nuriko said at last.  "If it's for Miaka...I'll go back to Konan.  Besides."  He frowned, shifted a little uneasily on the bed.  "It'll be nice to sleep in my own bed again."

Something cold trickled into the elder seishi's stomach, churned there for a moment.

_What will happen when you go into that room no da?  Filled with mementos of your life as a woman, your dresses still hanging in the closets just where you left them...  Will it help you remember no da?  Or, will it drive you insane?_

He snapped from his thoughts a moment later, realizing that Nuriko had spoken again.  Luckily, however, Mitsukake seemed to be paying more attention, and fielded the question without pause.

"Iya, it'll just be you, Miaka, and Chiriko."  
  


Nuriko's lips pursed; the hands in his lap lifted, kneaded together for a moment.  "When do we leave?"  
  


"As soon as you're ready to no da.  The trip will only take a few seconds no da, since I'll be using my magic.  So, as soon as you're ready, come to Miaka's room no da."  
  


The younger seishi gave a weary nod; his eyes slid closed.  "Hai, all right.  I'll just...get dressed and get my things together."

Chichiri nodded, exchanged glances with Mitsukake.  A moment later, the two had left Nuriko's bedside, slipped out through the doorway, and were standing in the inn's second floor hallway.  It wasn't until the door had clicked shut behind them that either dared speak.

"Have you contacted Hotohori-sama, Chichiri?" the healer asked in a low voice.  His dark eyebrows cinched together on his brow.   "Does he know what to expect?"

In one swift motion, Chichiri had drawn the mask from his face and tucked it into his fingers.  "Iie," he replied softly.  "I've already been using my magic too much no da.  Nakago must have an idea as to where we are by now.  I don't want to jeopardize Miaka or the shinzaho when we're so close to getting them safely into Konan no da...so I'll just have to explain to Hotohori-sama when we get there.  I...doubt it will be easy for him no da."  
  


Mitsukake smiled, very slightly.  "You talk as if it _has_ been easy for the rest of us."  
  


"Hai, I know," he returned, matching the smile.  "But...Nuriko was never in love with any of us no da."  
  


The healer shook his head, eyes drifting closed in something that looked like anguish to the concerned monk.  "I can't say I understand it," he rumbled.  "There's a saying in my village.  _'A love that is forgotten was never a love at all.'_"  
  


Chichiri was silent for a moment.  A few doors down, there was the sound of Tasuki's high-pitched laughter, punctuated by the unmistakable sound of Tamahome's low, growling words--the monk smiled softly.  It was good to hear signs of mirth again in the other seishi.  Ever since Nuriko's death, there'd been nothing but silence and heartache and that horrible unsatisfiable weariness; Chiriko spent his days and nights bent over books, Tasuki stormed around and rarely laughed, Tamahome and Miaka barely spoke.  It had been like Nuriko was the common glue that held them all together, kept them alive and functioning as they were meant to be.  With his death, everything had started to fall apart.

_But, maybe it's not just him no da.  Maybe...maybe it's any of the seishi.  Without all seven, we're just not whole no da._

"Mitsukake," Chichiri said slowly, thoughtfully, "did you feel it, when Nuriko was injured no da?"  
  


The larger man winced.  "Hai.  We all did."  
  


"And, did you feel it when he died no da?"  
  


"Hai."  
  


"So.  When he came back...did you feel anything, Mitsukake?"  
  


The dark eyes went wide.  "Hai.  I...I _did_ feel something.  Like...like..."

"Like a bright light," Chichiri whispered.  "A bright light where there was only darkness no da."

"So," the healer continued quietly, "whatever else might be inside of him, he is the shichiseishi Nuriko."

Chichiri nodded.  "He has to be.  If he weren't, we wouldn't have felt him return no da.  So, it...it must be."  At length, the monk leaned his back against the smooth wood of the wall, closed his eye and let out a soft sigh.  "But, what else is going on with him no da?  Why can't he remember certain things, but can remember everything else so clearly?  It doesn't make sense no da."  
  


"I wish I knew.  Maybe Hotohori-sama will be able to help him."  
  


_He was bein' fuckin' -weird-, 'Chiri, talkin' like he didn't love Hotohori-sama and never fuckin' had_.  _Gave me the fuckin' -creeps-!  Shit, man, what the hell's wrong with him?  Called ME a fuckin' okama.  ME!!_

"Maybe no da," Chichiri murmured.  "Maybe."

~*~

**Notes:**  This is but the first half of chapter four, posted here because it's written and I'm too exhausted to finish writing it before I'm off to bed. ^_~.  However, you'll notice that I'm doing my best to finish this fic ASAP, as it seems that logic has finally kicked in and told me that the only way to ensure that I finish a fic is to devote all my time and energy to it and get it done before my mind wanders to other projects.  So!  Hopefully, this fic will be completed shortly, possibly even tomorrow. ^^;  Howevvvvvver, don't let that stop you from reviewing, neeeeee? ^____^.


	6. 4. Return - Part II

**Disclaimer:  **No money gained, no ownership claimed.

**Warnings:  **Hmm!  Nothing, I think, except the usual ep 33 spoilers. ^_~.  

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_4.  Return (II)_

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

He was slumped over his desk, pouring over a pile of requests for royal attention, when they arrived.

There was little warning, and even less time to move out of the way--one moment, he was leaning back in his chair a bit, eyes drifting up towards the source of a strange noise...and, then, the next, something warm and heavy had thudded into his lap, and suddenly he wasn't alone anymore.

He heard two more thuds from behind him, along with a light, quick tapping noise that he imagined was Chichiri hitting the ground, but it was hard to focus, even harder to force himself to turn around, greet them properly.  His mind was buzzing, and his body felt frozen.  How...how could it be possible...?  
  


Only an instant had passed, but it felt like an eternity had trickled past him since this small, slender body had dropped into his lap, since he'd reflexively stretched out his arms, latched onto the body to keep it from toppling from its precarious seat.  He'd never gripped these shoulders before, never felt the silken strands of violet hair brush against his skin; he'd never, for that matter, had the warmth of this body pressed against him, or been so close to that smooth, pale-skinned face that he could've touched it easily.

The shock was just drifting from his mind, granting him again the enviable ability of speech, when the body in his arms spoke.

Nuriko smiled at him, a charming crooked smile that he'd never seen on these feminine features before, but which seemed somehow to fit him.  "Hello, Hotohori-sama," he said.  And, then, he laughed, very softly.  "Gomen ne.  I didn't hurt you, did I?"  
  


It was...strange...but, Nuriko's voice sounded lower, somehow, deeper.  And, his hair...!

Reflexively, his hand lifted to the cropped strands of violet that hung above the smaller man's shoulders, tugged them into his fingers.  "You cut your hair," he breathed.

And, then, he winced inwardly.  _Oh, yes, that's wonderful, you big royal idiot.  You think he's dead, and when he returns, the only thing you can think to do is to comment on his hair??_

Before he had a chance to scan his mind for something more appropriate to say, though, Nuriko had pulled free and leaped to his feet.  The smaller man turned around, then, arms folded lightly over his chest, and shrugged.  "It's not any different than it's always been," he offered.  He smiled a bit, touching at his hair.  "If anything, it's getting a little long."  
  


Hotohori frowned, opened his mouth to say something--but, then, suddenly, Chichiri was standing in front of him, giving him the wide, fake smile of the mask, and coming up behind the monk were Chiriko and Miaka.

"Hotohori!" Miaka crowed, pushing past Chichiri and dashing up to give him a quick hug.  "I'm so glad to see you!"  
  


Had the world gone crazy?  Nuriko talking in a low voice and shrugging away from his touch?  Miaka running to him like they were long-separated lovers?  Overwhelmed and confused, he returned his gaze to the monk, searching desperately for some sign that this wasn't all a bizarre dream--and, Chichiri quickly drew the mask from his face, set it down on the desk, and locked him into a one-eyed stare.

"Gomen ne no da, Hotohori-sama," he said.  His head bowed slightly.  "To avoid being detected by the Seiryuu seishi no da, I had to use as little magic as possible to get us here."  He scratched his head.  "We didn't know where in the palace we were going to end up until we got here no da."

"It's good to see that you're well, Hotohori-sama," Chiriko said formally.  The boy was standing on the side of Chichiri closest to his desk, far removed from his other two companions and not even glancing in their directions.  "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to go to my room and unpack my things."  
  


The young emperor managed a slight nod through his frown.  "H...Hai, of course.  It's good to see you, also, Chiriko."  
  


The boy gave a short bow, then lifted a bulky satchel from the floor and hurried to the front of the room.  A moment later, he'd slipped outside, turned onto the palace walkway, and vanished from view.  

"Ne, Nuriko!" Miaka exclaimed once he'd gone.  Her eyes were wide and smiling, and her fingers had found their way to the small seishi's bicep.  "I wonder if the snacks I left in my room are still there!!"  
  


_Something...is definitely going on.  Miaka is much too cheerful, and Nuriko and Chiriko are acting...strangely.  _

The violet-haired seishi let out a short sigh.  "Hai, hai, let's go."

It wasn't until the two had left the room and Chichiri had twitched a finger at the door, sent it slamming shut, that the monk spoke.

"Sumimasen, Hotohori-sama, but I only have a few minutes to explain this all to you.  Tasuki, Tamahome, and Mitsukake are waiting for me in Hokkan no da, and we need to set off as soon as possible."  The monk's shoulders slumped slightly, and he stepped forward, leaned his back up against the desk Hotohori still sat at.  "Something has happened no da.  You probably sensed it when, a few days ago, Nuriko...died."  
  


His eyes went wide; something icy and numbing began to creep over his skin, making him shiver.  "Hai, I did feel it."  His voice slipped into a whisper.  "But...but, if he died...if he died, Chichiri...then, who--?"  
  


The monk's eye drifted closed.  "I'll explain this as quickly as I can no da.  About four days ago, Nuriko was badly injured by the Seiryuu shichiseishi Ashitare, while trying to get to the shinzaho no da.  Mitsukake wasn't able to reach him in time, and he...died.  Thanks to his sacrifice, Miaka was able to get the shinzaho no da, which we've brought back to Konan to keep it safe while we get the other no da."  The monk's voice darkened.  "Have you ever heard of _kaisei no mahou_, Hotohori-sama?"  
  


Startled by the sudden subject change, the young emperor blinked.  "Resurrection magic?  Hai."  And, only an instant later, it clicked.  "Masaka!  You...you don't mean...Nuriko--!"

Chichiri nodded.  "Hai, Hotohori-sama.  Chiriko brought him back using _kaisei no mahou_ this morning."

"But...but, _kaisei no mahou_ can go horribly wrong!  It can bring a soul back..." His words faltered.  "...changed."  Suddenly feeling vaguely sick, he brought a shaky hand to his face, pressed an index finger and thumb against his eyelids.  "Soo ka," he whispered.  "So, that's why he's acting strangely."  
  


"There is good news, too, no da.  And, some things you should know before I leave no da.  First of all, whatever might've gone wrong, that _is_ the shichiseishi Nuriko no da.  He has Nuriko's strength, Nuriko's symbol, and most of Nuriko's memories."  
  


"Most of?"  
  


The monk's eye closed; his eyebrows pushed together on his forehead.  "Hai.  He remembers some things very clearly no da...and some other things not at all.  He doesn't remember his sister, for example, whose death was what prompted him to crossdress in the first place.  And..."  The elder seishi drew in a long breath, let it out slowly through his nostrils; his eye slid open.  "And, he doesn't remember being in love with you, Hotohori-sama.  It's as if the past has been rewritten in his mind--he remembers you, he remembers being here, but he doesn't remember crossdressing or being in the harem or falling in love.  You might have noticed, he's acting a lot more like a man than he ever has before no da."

His mouth felt dry.  His _soul_ felt dry.  "W...Will he ever be the same again?"  
  


The monk gave a helpless shrug.  "I can't say no da--I doubt anyone can.  Even Taiitsukun doesn't practice _kaisei no mahou_, so I doubt that even she would be able to help no da.  So, all you can do is be careful around him, and remember that--even if he is acting differently--he _is_ Nuriko.  And, this might only be temporary no da.  He might wake up one morning and remember everything...or, he might spend the rest of his life living like this, not remembering.  All we can do is watch him no da...and wait."

~*~

He felt cold.  His hands were clammy against the doorknob, his fingers trembling against the cool brass in a quick, unsteady rhythm.  This...this couldn't be right. 

"This isn't my room," he whispered.  "This...this is a girl's room.  This isn't my room."  
  


And, yet...yet, somehow...it _was_.

Despite the weeks it had been empty, the air didn't smell stale or dusty--there was the soft fragrance of lilacs, and the clean, rich smell of moist topsoil and spearmint leaves.  The room itself was fairly small and square-shaped, with an elegant cedar-wood bed pressed against the right hand wall, its mattress covered neatly in thin blankets and a variety of soft, malleable pillows.  Behind the bed, tucked in the far right corner of the room, was a collection of vases and potted plants, arranged carefully on a step-like shelf made of dark, polished wood, and just next to the shelf was a large bureau, topped with a variety of brushes, ties, and combs, as well as an octagon-shaped box made of glass and thin shafts of wood, in which could be seen a flood of elegant jewelry. 

This was, unmistakably, a woman's room, a woman's things--a woman's silken dresses, peeking out from the depths of the warddrobe.  So, obviously, this wasn't his room--Miaka had made a mistake, pointed him in the wrong direction, of course.  Of course.  Just the wrong room, that was all.

But...but, he _remembered_ this place, he _remembered_ having the room next to Miaka's, remembered sitting on that bed and leaning his head back against the wall and listening to the drama unfolding between his miko and fellow warrior.  He remembered, also, the night Hotohori-sama had charged in and threatened Tamahome with his sword, proclaimed his love for Miaka in loud, clear words that struck into his heart like...

He stopped.  His knees felt weak and shaky all of a sudden, and there was something like pain building inside of him--and, yet, it wasn't pain.  It was an ache, a strange, unfamiliar but _so familiar_ ache that started in his stomach and branched upward and clenched at his throat...

Like the Hand.  It clenched at his throat like the Hand, except this touch was warmth and anguish and longing.  What...what was happening to him?

His legs were going to buckle.  He was going to fall.  And, if he fell, he was going to cry.  He could feel it inside of him, could feel the heavy sobs climbing up his throat, begging for release...

"No," he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut and stumbling back from the door.  He struck into the hard wood of the walkway railing a moment later, stood there shivering for a long moment before he could gather the strength to move.  "No," he whispered again, teeth gritted and eyes still tightly closed.  "No."

And, then, he turned and stumbled away, and did not look back.

~*~


	7. 5. Abstraction - Part I

**Disclaimer:    **Mouse-chan owns a Nuriko plushie.  

**Warnings:  **Angst.   That's about all. ^^;;

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_5. Abstraction (I) _

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

He'd been sitting at his desk for maybe forty-five minutes, staring blankly at the mounds of parchment that demanded his attention, when the familiar knock sounded against the door.

_Chiriko would knock more slowly; Miaka wouldn't knock at all.  And, anyone else wouldn't dare disturbing me.  So, that leaves only…._

"Come in, Nuriko," he called softly.

He didn't feel ready for this moment, he really didn't.  His emotions were still reeling and his mind was turning violent circles against his skull, and it was all he could do to force his palms to lie flat on the desk, to not knead them on his lap or twitch them back and forth against the wood…

After only a moment's pause, however, and before he really had a chance to regain his composure, Nuriko had pushed open the door and stepped inside.  He still moved with the same grace, the young emperor noticed, still carried himself more like a dancer than a warrior--and, even death hadn't drawn the flush of rose from his cheeks or the delicate beauty from his features.  The ache that had been drawing at his heart since the moment of this man's death surged up in him again, and it was a long moment before he felt steady enough to speak.

Meanwhile, Nuriko had come to a halt and clasped his hands respectfully in front of him, now had his head bowed and his eyes fixed on the floor.  "Good afternoon, Hotohori-sama," he murmured.  "I…I have a request."

The young emperor felt his eyebrow lift, was suddenly thankful that Nuriko's gaze was turned away from his face. "A request," he echoed—his voice, he kept low and deep; it was a tone more appropriate for greeting dignitaries than speaking to a friend.  But…then, Nuriko hardly fit into that category anymore, did he?  "What sort of request?"

The eighteen-year-old's eyes stayed fixed on the floor.  "There's been…some sort of mistake with my room," he said quietly.  "I-I'd like to request another."

"A mistake?"  His eyes narrowed.  "The maids have been keeping up with the cleaning of it, and Houki's been in to water the pl—"

"Iie…Hotohori-sama.  It's not that.  The room is fine, it's just...someone else must've been living there since I left."  He gave a short, strained laugh.  "I-It's filled with a woman's things, and obviously those aren't mine, ne?  So…so, there must've been some mix-up or something, because whoever that woman is, her things are in my room--and, she doesn't have to move them, or anything, but...I think I'd like a different room."  For the first time, those rosy violet eyes lifted from the floor, and met his gaze…and the twinge of fear that rested within them was enough to freeze him in his chair.  "Onegai?" Nuriko said in a small voice.  "I-I don't want to cause any trouble for her, who…whoever she is."

His head moved into a nod before he knew what he was doing, and he could only hope that Nuriko couldn't pick up on the slight waver that crept into his voice.  "Hai, I don't see that that would be a problem.  I'll have one of my advisors find you another room immediately."

"If…if possible, I'd like to be close to Miaka.  I know that there aren't many rooms left near hers, but maybe, since the others aren't here right now, I could use Chichiri's room or Tamahome's room or maybe even Tasuki's room?"

He was silent for a moment, considering.  "I…I suppose we could arrange for you to stay in one of their rooms," he said at last.  "There's also the option, however, of moving all three of you into the suites closer to my own quarters…for the sake of convenience, of course, and in case you ever needed anything else…"

Nuriko's face brightened.  "Would I be close to Miaka?"

"H…hai.  You could be right next to her."

"Ne, then, let's do that."  Nuriko smiled, and there was such happiness in his expression that it felt as if something were clenching against his heart, squeezing it mercilessly…  "Arrigato, Hotohori-sama."

"Dou itashimashite," he replied softly.  "I'll go inform Miaka and Chiriko of the change."

He made to get up from his chair, but was stopped by Nuriko's hand, snapping up from the smaller seishi's side so quickly that it seemed almost to appear out of thin air.  "I-Iie!" he exclaimed.  "Daijobu; stay here.  I'll go tell them."

_He doesn't want me near him.  I can see it in his eyes.  He doesn't want to look at me…_

He was ready to fold his hands on the desk and smile and say that it was all right, he had paperwork to finish, anyway…but, the next thing he knew, his body was sliding out of the chair and his feet were carrying him across the floor towards where Nuriko stood, and there something so fearful and childlike in those wide violet eyes that it scared him...

_What am I doing?  It isn't as if I can force him to remember.  Besides, what if he's happier like this?  What if he can't remember because remembering hurts him?  What if...what if this is what he -wants-?  Who am I to take that away from him?  _

His mind understood.  His mind was appalled that he would dare take the offensive like this, that he would dare let his own anger and frustration be taken out on Nuriko--it wasn't his fault, after all...!  His body, however, kept dragging him forward, until at last he was standing only a few inches away from the other seishi.

He came to a slow halt there, assuming a fairly non-threatening stance with arms at his sides and chin tilted slightly downwards...but, it didn't seem to matter.  Nuriko wasn't looking at him at all, was gazing off to the side with wide eyes, and he was inching slowly backwards as if trying to escape.  

_Look at me.  Please.  Look at me, damn it._

But, Nuriko wouldn't look.  And, if he delayed any longer, this man was going to turn around, pull open that door, and disappear onto the palace walkway.  If he delayed any longer, he would never say what he needed to say...and, whether he liked it or not, something inside of him _needed_ to make sure.  Something inside of him needed to hear the words from Nuriko's own lips, and in Nuriko's own words.

His voice was low.  "You really don't remember," he murmured, "do you, Nuriko?"  
The slow backwards journey halted; something like recognition flickered into those wide, abstracted eyes, but they still didn't look at him.  "R-Remember what?"  

_Don't do this to him.  You don't have the power to make him remember.  Trying will only hurt him, so don't try because you can't do anything, anyway!_

But...  He drew a deep breath.  But, what if he _could_?

"When did you come to the palace, Nuriko?" he asked quietly.

Violet eyes blinked at him in surprise, and the pinkish lips worked soundlessly for a moment before any words bled out.  "I-I came a few months ago, when Miaka showed up."  
  


"Why did you come?"

Nuriko was frowning--but at least he was looking at him, now.  "I-I had to.  I'm a shichiseishi and she's the miko."  
  


"What happened the first time you met Miaka?"  
  


"Sh-she was trapped under a gazebo with Tamahome.  I came forward and...dug her out."

"And, what about me?"  He took a long, heavy step forward, loomed above Nuriko like a predator above its cowering prey.  "Was that the first time you met me?"  
  


There was a soft _thud_ as the smaller seishi's shoulder blades struck against the door.  "N-No..."

"Then, when?  When did you first meet me?  Under what circumstances?""

Nuriko's eyes were wide and fearful; his back was pressing against the door with such force that Hotohori could hear the wood splintering.  "What does it matter?" he cried.

_I can make him remember. I know I can make him remember..._

"When was it, Nuriko?" he asked in a firm, quiet voice.  "When did you first meet me?"

"I-I can't remember exactly.  It was a long time ago!"

"How old were we?"

"I don't know, it was a long time ago!"

"No, it wasn't, Nuriko; it was three years ago, and you were being presented to me as a member of the Imperial Harem--as Lady Kourin!"  His voice was rising, but he couldn't stop it; something inside of him was writhing and he couldn't break free.  "You wore a green dress with red flowers.  Your hair was braided and twisted on top of your head, and you were wearing little blue earrings and a gold necklace.  You were standing between two other girls who were both keeping their eyes on the floor, but when you got up to the front, instead you looked up at me and you _winked_. You have to remember that!"

Nuriko's voice was low and shaky.  "I-I really don't know what you're talking about, Hotohori-sama, and I really ought to get back to Miaka--"  
  


"No!"  In frustration, his hand sprang up from his side, slammed into the wood of the door just off Nuriko's right cheek.  "This is ridiculous!  You're Suzaku no shichiseishi Nuriko!  Your name is Ryuen!  Chou Ryuen!  You have an older brother named Rokou and a younger sister named Kourin, but she died when you were just a child and that's when you started dressing like a woman!"  
  


A long, stricken silence followed.

Nuriko was staring at him with wide, shocked eyes; his lips were slightly parted as if he couldn't find the strength to close them.  "_What?_" he breathed at last.  "_What_ did you just say?"

Suddenly realizing just what he was doing, the young emperor took a stumbling step backwards; his hands dropped limply to his sides.  "Nandemonai," he whispered.  "It doesn't matter."  He turned, began the slow, stumbling walk back to his desk--and stopped, frozen, as Nuriko's next words sliced into him like knives.

"Why does everyone keep trying to convince me that I'm something I'm not?" he asked in a low, angry voice.  "Is what I am so horrible?"

"That's not what I'm trying to do, Nuriko."  He sighed;  his shoulders slumped.  "I'm just trying to help you remember--"  
  


"Remember?"  Nuriko gave a short, near-hysterical laugh.  "I can't remember something that didn't happen, ne, Hotohori-sama?"  For a moment, there was no sound but the far-off twitter of birds and the harsh in and out of Nuriko's breathing...and, then, there was the jingle of Nuriko's hand on the knob, the swish of the door sliding open.  "I-I'm going to see Miaka," he said in a low, tense voice.  "Let me know when our rooms are ready."

_Slam._

Hotohori sighed, moved to his chair, and slumped down into it.  

~*~

**Chapter Notes:  **As I've suddenly become afflicted with a migraine, I'm going to do yet another chapter-halving and stop here.  However, the second half of chapter five will most likely be done sometime tonight, as will *crosses fingers* the rest of the fic!  *cheer*  Anyway, arrigato to everyone who's reviewed!!  *high five*  


	8. 5. Abstraction - Part II

**Disclaimer:  **What're you, a slow learner or somethin'?  FY wa not-mine desu!

**Warnings:  **Just angst. ^^;; 

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_5. Abstraction (II)  _

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Something rapped against the door frame.  "Nuriko-san?"  
  


He'd been sitting crosslegged on his new bed, staring blankly at the wall and turning the conversation with Hotohori-sama over in his mind, but now he turned, swung his legs over the side, and smiled.  Chiriko stood tentatively in the doorway, one fist still raised in the knock; the other hung awkwardly at his side, its fingers trembling slightly against the fabric of his tunic.  The boy looked nervous; but, then, this was the first time they'd really spoken since before his death--and, it suddenly occurred to him that Chiriko had been avoiding him all this time, and that he'd been too wrapped up in his own thoughts and concerns to notice.

Rather than dwell on that, though, he gave the boy a slight nod.  Tufts of violet hair fluttered down over his eyes with the motion.  "Hi, Chiriko," he said warmly.  "Come in."  
  


Hesitating only for a moment, the boy obeyed.  Nuriko gave him an encouraging wave, then, and--after another second or so of indecision--the young seishi submitted and hopped onto the bed beside him.  They sat there for a few moments in silence, the dying light of early evening bathing the room around them in a wash of pale amber, before the thirteen-year-old spoke.

His voice was small.  "Are you glad that I brought you back, Nuriko-san?" 

He blinked; something cold clenched at his heart for a moment...and, then, vanished..  "Of course, I am," he said ardently.  "Why wouldn't I be?"  
  


"It's just...Chichiri-san said that..."  The boy's eyes flickered to the far wall.  "He said that you might not be...happy to leave."

"Leave?"

"H-hai," he continued with some difficulty.  "Leave...the Sky.  Heaven.  Paradise.  It...it can't have been easy for you, to leave such a wonderful place, and I can't help but wonder now if maybe I was...if maybe I was selfish, bringing you back."

"Why...'selfish?'"

The boy didn't answer him for a long moment, gaze abstracted, lips pressed together in a tight line.  And, then, his words came in a low rush, soft and fast like a burst of rain.  "Nuriko-san, what was it like?"  His fingers tangled together in his lap.  "Dying, I mean.  Did it...did it hurt?  What happened after it?  Did you get to see people you loved, who had died before?"  
  


There was a _need_ in his voice, a desperate longing Nuriko didn't quite understand.  

"Hai," he answered slowly, "it hurt.  But--"  He smiled slightly.  "--it was the living that hurt more than the dying.  Once I started dying, then...everything got easier to bear.  Things got...softer, and even though there was snow all around me, I was warm.  Even the pain faded away, when the dying started."

Chiriko didn't seem to be breathing, staring at him with wide, fascinated green eyes.  "Wh-what about after that?"  
  


_Darkness.  Nothing but darkness, stretching out before him like a vast plain--but, there was a warm hand clinging to his own, drawing him up out of the darkness and into...into...into -what?-_

"I don't remember," he whispered.  

The boy's stare was boring into him.  "You...you don't remember?  But, why don't y--"  
  


"Chiriko."  Whether it was actual concern or just a deep desire to get away from this topic, the name sprang from his lips unhindered--and, it had its desired effect.  The boy fell silent, head tilting downwards like a reprimanded school boy.  Once the younger seishi was silent, he spoke the first words that came into his mind:  "Why did you bring me back?"  
  


Chiriko blinked at him.  "You didn't deserve to die like that, Nuriko-san."  
  


"Why?"  
  


"B...Because.  You're a Suzaku shichiseishi, and we need all seven--"  
  


"No, we don't.  Not now.  Not now that we have he shinzaho."  
  


 "That's...that's not what I mean, Nuriko-san."  The boy let a soft sigh pass through his lips, let his head droop so his chin touched against his chest.  "I know that we don't need all the seishi to summon Suzaku.  But, Nuriko-san, we _do_ need all the seishi to be..."  His eyes slid closed.  "To be _complete_.  You and the others, you're like my family.  My..."  His voice sounded choked all of a sudden.  "My brothers."  
  


Then, the boy turned to him, stared at him for a long moment with fingers kneading in his lap and lips slightly parted as if to say something...

...and, the door flew open.

Nuriko sighed.  _Great timing as always, Miaka._

The girl stood framed in the doorway, chest heaving with the attempt to catch her breath, one hand still resting on the wood of the door.  Her hair, out of its usual meatball buns, hung in messy waves on her shoulders, and she'd changed into a thick green sweatshirt and brown shorts, both of which were sprinkled with dark crumbs.  "Ne, Nuriko!" she exclaimed.  "These rooms are so _big!_  And, they're so close to the dining hall!!"  Finally seeming to notice that Nuriko wasn't alone, the girl blinked, gave a bashful smile.  "Ah-ha, gomen ne.  I didn't know you were here, Chiriko."  
  


Chiriko slid carefully off the bed; his small shoes clapped against the wooden floorboards a moment later.  "Daijobu, Miaka-san," he said with a fairly-convincing smile.  "I was just leaving."  
  


Nuriko frowned.  He'd been about to say something important, he was sure of it--but, what?  And, now that that moment had passed...would it ever be said?

"Ne, Chiriko," he said, hopping lightly to his feet.  "About what we were talking abou--"  
  


"Iie, iie," the boy cut in.  He paused, just in front of the doorway, and granted the elder seishi a slight smile crested by wide, pleading eyes.  "We can discuss it later.  Ne, Nuriko-san?"    
  


He let out a soft breath, nodded.  "Hai...I guess we can."  
  


With that, the boy spun on his heel and, with a slight nod of farewell to their young miko, stepped outside and vanished down the walkway.  

_Something's wrong with him...and, it has to do with me, and with dying...but, there's something more to it than that, I know there is.  But, what?  And, why doesn't he want Miaka to know about it? _

"Ne...Nuriko?"  
  


He snapped from his thoughts, glanced at the girl and found her with her shoulder leaning against the door, her lips twisted downwards into a frown.  He blinked. " Hm?  What is it, Miaka?"  
  


"Is..."  Her frown deepened.  "Is your...hair shorter?"

His fingers flew reflexively to the cropped strands of violet, touched at the now-exposed skin at the nape of his neck.  "Hai.  It was sloppy, cutting it like that in Hokkan.  Besides--"  He smiled slightly.  "--it was getting a little long, and what with everyone accusing me of looking like a girl, it seemed like a good idea to cut it.  Ne?"  
  


Miaka's voice was soft.  "You certainly...look a lot like a guy, now, Nuriko."

He heaved a massive sigh, flopped backwards onto the bed ,and lay there for a moment.  "Mattaku!" he exclaimed after a few seconds.  "I'm getting _really_ tired of this."  He sighed again, then pushed himself up into a sitting position and raised his arms.  "I'm a guy, okay?  I don't just _look_ like a guy, I _am_ a guy.  I can prove it if you need me to, ne?  So, please, pass the message along to everyone else, because I'm getting really sick of having to explain this over and over again.  I am a guy.  I am a guy.  I'm not a girl and I never was.  Okaaaaaay?"

Miaka was silent for a long time.  And, was it his imagination, or was her lip quivering, just slightly...?  "I-I know you're a guy," she said at last.  Her voice was small, as if she couldn't find the strength to speak any more loudly.  "But...but, can't you be a guy and still be Nuriko?  Can't you stay how you were and not...not _change_ just because you don't remember dressing like a girl?"  An unexpected flood of tears surged from her cheeks, then, and her voice grew thick with sobs.  "I want Nuriko back!" she wailed with sudden volume.  "Why can't you be him?  Why can't you?  WHY CAN'T YOU BE NURIKO?  _IT ISN'T FAIR!_"

It was as if someone had punched him hard in the stomach; all the air swept from his lungs and would not return.  The rest of him, too, seemed frozen in the moment, his eyes wide, his mouth slightly open--was his heart even beating?  When he finally regained the power to breathe, his mouth was dry and several moments had passed in silence.  "I...I don't understand," he managed to sputter out.  "I-I'm Nuriko."  
  


"You might look like him," Miaka said in a low, shaky whisper, "but you are _not_ Nuriko.  Not the Nuriko I knew."

"That's crazy, Miaka!"  
  


The girl had taken a few small steps backwards, now stood just outside the door, her tears glittering with refracted sunlight.  "Something went wrong," she whispered.  "I knew it wasn't true.  I knew it...but, I didn't want to believe it, so I pretended.  Ne?  We all pretended.  We all pretended that, because you look like Nuriko, you _are_ him."  Her voice sank.  "But, you're not.  You're not."

And, with that, the girl turned and charged off down the walkway; only a few seconds later, there came the slam of her door, followed by the squeak of bed coils and high, anguished weeping.  Stunned and shaking, Nuriko slid from the bed, fell to his knees on the floor and sat there for a moment.  The tears were burning in his eyes, trickling down over his cheeks in hot, salty streams, but he couldn't stop them.  Something inside of him was screaming, and it was all he could do not to succumb to that urge himself.

_Not me?  Not me?  What does she mean, I'm not me?  I'm me!  I'm Nuriko!  Chou Ryuen, Hotohori-sama said!  I'm Chou Ryuen!  I'm Nuriko!  I-I have to be...!  Why would she say that?  Why would she say something like that when I'm -me-??  Gods, what's wrong with everyone?  I don't know who they want me to be..._  _Why isn't what I am ever good enough for anyone?_  _Mattaku, all those years, everyone always wanted me to act like a boy was supposed to act, but now that I am acting that way, they hate me!  I-I don't under..._

He froze, eyes going wide.  Even the tears seemed to pause on his cheeks.  __

_What...what did I just say?_

_All those years?  All those years?  What the hell're you talking about, ne, Nuriko??  You've -always- acted like a boy.  It's -them-; they're the ones who're trying to convince you that you were something other than that.  Mattaku, don't let them do this to you!  Don't let them convince you that you're something other than what you are!  _

"But, how do I know?" he whispered.  His palms thudded onto the floor boards; his head and shoulders hunched over them, the tears spurred back into motion and gathering in a small pool beneath him.  "How do I know what I am?"  
  


_How do I know that they're not right??_

At length, he crawled into his bed, curled up beneath the warmth of the covers and closed his eyes.  He hadn't intended to sleep, only to feel warm and safe and to drown out the sound of Miaka's sobs...but, after only a few minutes, he fell into a thick, heavy sleep.  And, when the dreams came, he was too deep in the darkness to pull himself out.                

~*~


	9. 6. Resolution - Part I

**Disclaimer:  **Watashi no ja nai.

**Warnings:  **...........upcoming shounen ai!!!  ^^;;

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

_6.  Resolution (I)_

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Nuriko was not at dinner and, irrationally, he was worried.

Houki knew; he could tell from the slight downward twist to her lips, the twinge of concern in the blue of her eyes--most of all, though, he could tell from the fact that her hand continued to rise up from its place on her lap and wrap comfortingly around his own, give his larger fingers a tight squeeze.  She said nothing through the entire meal, merely sat there beside him, listening attentively to all that was said and occasionally giving a slight smile or a nod--but, every time their eyes met, something like understanding passed between them.  And, finally, when Miaka's forced cheer and Chiriko's preoccupied silence was becoming too much to bear, and when he was seriously considering standing up and just _leaving_ before he went insane...it was Houki who rescued him.

"Sumimasen," she murmured, ducking her head demurely towards the table.  "Heika, I'm not feeling well.  Would you excuse me?"  Her eyes lifted from the table, very briefly, and again, the understanding flickered between them.

It was all he could do to keep the flood of relief from showing in his features.  Nodding slightly, he pushed back his chair and drew himself to his feet, then walked to Houki's chair and pulled it gently away from the table.  "Miaka, Chiriko," he said formally, "I apologize, but I should walk Lady Houki back to her room.  Please, finish your dinners.  Someone will bring you your desserts when you're ready."

The two gave equally-unenthusiastic nods, and returned to their meals.  For a moment, he regretted leaving them--they were both obviously struggling with something; Miaka had barely touched her meal, and Chiriko was eating with the kind of dull fervor that rarely belied anything good.  But, then, Houki's hand had slipped neatly into his own, and he was leading her out of the dining hall and, at length, outside.

The night air was cool--it was nearing late autumn, after all, even in the far south of Konan--but, there was a freshness to the breeze, and the scent of jasmine and river salt swept into their nostrils with each long, clean breath.  Houki's hand was warm in his own, and although she took the short, shuffling steps of most of the demure young ladies in the Imperial Harem, she moved with a grace and strength that even Nuriko would have envied.

Something heavy thudded into his stomach with the thought.  _Nuriko..._

His face was bathed in shadow, but somehow, Houki picked up on the sudden plunge in his mood--perhaps it was the tensing of his fingers, or the sudden break in his breathing.  Whatever the case, her fingers folded more deeply into the groove between his index finger and thumb, and when he glanced at her, her face was tilted towards him.

"They seemed surprised to see me," she said softly.  "Especially Miaka-sama."  
  


He smiled slightly.  "Well, you do look a great deal like him.  And, I'm sure that the fact that I introduced you as my future empress most likely had something to do with their reactions."  
  


He couldn't see her, bathed as they were in the darkness of the moonless night, but she seemed to be smiling.  "I doubt they expected it."  
  


His lips bent more fully upwards."I'd say it's safe to say that no one expected it, least of all my advisors.  They thought I was joking."  
  


Houki laughed, a light, musical laugh that rang for only a moment before being muffled by a hand.  "Iie, they didn't think you were joking--they were more concerned that you'd chosen someone who wouldn't be able to give you an heir.  Miyama-san hired one of my maids to spy on me in the bath, as a matter of fact, to be sure that I really was a woman."

Despite the twinge of pain that the thought dredged up in him, he laughed--and, strangely, it felt good.  "They found everything in order, I take it?"  
  


They were passing beneath one of the many glowing torches that lined the walkway; he turned his head just in time to see Houki blush.  "H-Hai, Heika."

They walked in a comfortable silence for a short time, moving down the walkway at little more than a stroll.  They were just passing the path that led down to the Imperial Gardens when Houki sighed, drew back her fingers, and came to a slow halt.  She turned towards him; warring flickers of torchlight and starlight bathed her features in alternating reds and silvers, and he found himself thinking once again just how lovely she really was.

_And, she looks so much like..._

"Heika," she said.  She blushed again.  "H...Hotohori.  I...think that there's something we should discuss."  
  


He knew what it was even before he saw the look in her eyes, even before the words passed from her lips.  He wanted to tell her not to bother, to dismiss whatever strange thoughts she might be having and just let things remain as they were...but, his tongue seemed leaden in his mouth; his vocal chords were frozen.

Houki leaned her back lightly against the railing of the walkway; the elegant reds and browns of her dress rustled with the movement like dried leaves.  "Do you remember the day we met?"  
  


_Some things, you don't ever forget._

"Hai," he murmured.  "You were in the garden, sitting beneath the...the willow tree."  
  


The young woman smiled, very softly.  "Hai.  And, you were out for a walk.  You were very upset."  
  


"It was the night Nuriko died," he managed huskily.  "I was...not myself."  
  


"I was staring up at the stars when you came, Heika.  I was staring up into the sky and feeling as if...as if a part of me were missing.  And, then, you came and called me by his name, and that was when I knew that...he was dead."  

Her voice changed with a suddenness that startled him.  One moment it was as it always was--soft, polite, and formal...and, then, the next, it was hard, firm--strong.  "It was Nuriko who brought us together, Heika.  It was because of him that you noticed me, and because of him that we grew...close.  You must realize what that means."  
  


He blinked.  "What that...means?"  
  


Her lips bent upwards, and despite the firmness to her voice, it was a gentle smile.  "No, of course, you don't.  Men are notoriously bad at noticing the truth of their own feelings, even when they're as glaringly obvious as this."

The realization jolted into him like a shock.   _She...she can't mean..._  

As if sensing his thoughts, Houki nodded.  "Hai.  It all makes sense, doesn't it, Heika?  We met because of him.  We grew close because of him.  You proposed to me because of him.  But, he's _alive,_ Heika."  She gripped his hand, clutched it between hers and held it close.  "Hotohori.  He's _alive_.  How much time are you going to waste before you admit that you love him?"

~*~

**Notes:  **Ehehe, I'm reaaaaally sorry to do this chapter-splitting thing again, but I'm being thrown from the computer, and so I must post now or forever hold my peace. -_-;;  This fic is almost over, though!  Can you believe it?  *gasp*  There will, however, be a sequel, which I already have allllllll planned out, wahahahahaa. ^_^.   


	10. 6. Resolution - Part II

**Disclaimer:  I own an orange Mister Donut cup and a bottle of green gatorade.  Fushigi Yuugi, alas, is not among my assets.**

**Warnings:  Extremely minor shounen ai implications, angst [surprise --;;], and a great big bucketload of Chiriko monologue. ^_~.  Oh, and just so you know:  "Heeee" is not pronounced as it's spelled. :P  It sounds like, "Hehhhhh," and it's an expression of surprise or startlement (the pitch goes up--Miaka's said it before a few times, I believe).  Anyway.  Just so you're aware. ^.^;**

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_6.  Resolution (II)_

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

For a long moment, it was as if he couldn't breathe.  

_Admit that you love him...that you love him...you love him...love him..._

_...you love him._

He shook his head, took a slightly-unsteady step backwards.  "I...no!"  He frowned hard.  "No, I don't.  I _don't.  Not like that."_

Houki didn't move, only raised one slim eyebrow and asked, "Honto desu ka?"  
  


"Hai, of course!"  
  


Her eyes narrowed, and her voice was firm and quiet.  "Then, why me, Heika?"  She took a small step forward, stared up at him with fire and starlight in her eyes.  "Why now?  Why did you wait until he was _dead before you showed any interest at all in anyone else?  And __why, Heika, if you don't care for him, does the fact that he doesn't remember loving you hurt you so much?"_

He turned away, stalked to another section of the walkway and slammed his hands down onto it.  "It isn't that," he said in a low, ardent voice.  His eyes were cast at the ground, his knuckles white over the rail.  "It's what else he's forgotten.  He's forgotten his sister, and his...his entire history at the palace.  That's what upsets me."

"Are you sure?" Houki said softly.  "When I told you about his sister, you said that it should never have happened.  And, now, in his mind, it hasn't.  Isn't it better this way?"

His eyes squeezed shut.  "No.  _No.  It's not better this way.  He's forgotten so much...  It's as if he isn't even Nuriko anymore."_

A warm, delicate hand touched his shoulder, gave it a gentle squeeze.  "Look into his eyes," Houki whispered.  "Then, you'll know who he is."

And, with that, the young woman turned, folded her arms respectfully in front of her, and walked away.  

~*~

Fork dangling loosely in her fingers, Miaka sighed.

There hadn't been much in the way of conversation since Hotohori had left, despite the fact that she'd been trying her hardest to start some.  She'd dabbled in at least seven different inane topics since their dessert had arrived, exercising all the ice-breaking skills she'd gathered over her fifteen years, but none of them had developed beyond two or three exchanges before fizzling out.  But, ne, at least she was trying.  It was Chiriko who was being abrupt and unresponsive, Chiriko who was sitting there shovelling spoonful after spoonful of the custard-like dessert into his mouth like he didn't even know she was there.  

_Try one more time, ne, Miaka?  One more time._

"So, Chiriko!" she said brightly.  "That was some weather in Hokkan, wasn't it?  Had you ever seen snow before then?"

Much to her surprise, that seemed to jar the boy from his stupor--the spoon paused in front of his lips, and his eyes widened, just slightly.  After a moment, he lowered the spoon back to the bowl, turned towards her, and nodded.  "Hai," he answered quietly.  "Once."  
  


A small explosion went off in her mind.  _Bingo!   "Ah, honto ni?  When was that?"              _

Those wide green eyes studied her for a moment, and she got the impression that he was struggling with something, perhaps trying to decide whether to tell her something or not...  Whatever the case, though, after a moment he gave a slight nod, sat up straight in his chair, and folded his hands on the tabletop.  It wasn't until he started to speak that she realized it was to keep them from shaking.

"Four years ago," he said in a soft voice, "my older brother Tarou took me to Hokkan.  He was seventeen, and he was going to visit Maia, who was his fiancée."  He smiled slightly.  "Okaasan didn't want me to go, since it was such a long journey and I was so small, but I wanted to very badly, and so Tarou convinced her to let me."  
  


Miaka leaned her chin onto her hand.  "Heeeee, I didn't know you had an older brother, Chiriko!"  
  


A soft smile bent at the boy's lips--he nodded.  "Hai.  After I was born, my mother had to go back to work, and so Tarou was the one who raised me.  He taught me history, literature, math equations...  Okaasan was so proud of him, for being so smart, so I spent most of my childhood trying to be like him.  But, even with all his intelligence, I don't think he understood why I wanted to go with him to Hokkan so badly.  It's likely he thought it was because I was tired of studying and wanted to see other countries, which was partly true, but that wasn't the entire reason."  
  


She shook her head.  "What was it?"

The boy glanced to the side; strands of pinkish hair brushed over his eyes with the motion.  "I didn't want him to marry Maia," he admitted softly.  "I thought that if I went along, then I could find something wrong with her and stop him from marrying her.  I didn't want him to leave me, Miaka-san.  It was selfish, hai, but I wanted him to stay--if he married Maia, I knew he would live in Hokkan and I would never see him again.  So, I went along to stop him."  He shook his head slightly.  "I thought I was doing the right thing.  I thought that I was helping him.  But, I was only being selfish and stupid."

"Ne, don't say that!  It wasn't stupid to want your brother to stay with you."

Chiriko went on as if he hadn't heard her.  "The journey to Hokkan was the best week of my life.  By the time we reached Maia's village, I was having too much fun to remember that I hated her.  But, while we were there, Tarou...announced that they were going to get married in only a few days.  He hadn't told our mother because he knew she didn't approve of him moving so far away, but he said that he was glad I'd come along, because...he wanted me to be a part of the ceremony."  
  


The boy's voice sank.  "I was devastated, Miaka-san.  I didn't answer him.  Instead, I turned and ran out of the room and out of the house and down into the woods--I didn't stop running until I tripped over a root and twisted my ankle, and even then, I kept trying to run.  I don't know where I thought I was going to, but I was so upset...and miserable.  It had been difficult enough, knowing that he was going to be leaving in a few months.  But, a few days?  I couldn't believe it.

"About ten minutes later, Tarou found me, but I...I didn't want to see him, so I got up and started trying to run away again, but my ankle was twisted and so I didn't get very far.  I...I remember it very vividly, stumbling away and hearing him calling after me, and then turning my head a little bit so I could see if he was still following me and--"  He broke off.

Miaka realized she'd been holding her breath and released it, sat up so straight in her chair that she towered above Chiriko.  "What?" she exclaimed.  "What happened next?"

He hadn't been looking as her as he'd spoken the rest of the story--his eyes had been fixed on the far wall, or on the jellied remains of his custard, or on his fingers.  Now, though, Chiriko turned back to face her, and she was startled to find a mist of tears swimming in his eyes.

"There was a wolf," he whispered.  "Tarou was...trying to catch up to me, and so he didn't hear it coming up behind him until it..."  He swallowed; a slim trail of moisture trickled down his cheek.  "It attacked him.  I...I wanted to try to help him, so I grabbed a tree branch and tried to get to him, but it was still so hard to walk with my twisted ankle, and...I couldn't get to him.  Maia's father came, then, and killed the wolf, but...but, Tarou was already dead.

"I couldn't save him, Miaka-san.  He was my brother, and I couldn't save him.  So, after that...I started living my life the way he'd lived his.  He'd always wanted to be a government official, so I studied night and day, learned all I could and worked towards that goal.  I owed him something, Miaka-san.  It was my fault that he died, and so the least I could do was devote my life towards living as he would have."

_This...this sounds familiar..._

Miaka pressed a trembling hand to her mouth, stared at Chiriko with the beginnings of comprehension clawing at her mind.  "Chiriko...you..."

The boy gave her a small, bittersweet smile.  "Chichiri-san was the only one who knew about Tarou at first.  And, so, he told me...about Nuriko-san, and what happened with his sister.  We talked about it, Miaka-san.  On the boat to Hokkan, before the three of you were washed overboard, Nuriko-san and I talked about it, and for the first time since Tarou died, I felt like there was someone who _understood."  He sighed softly.  "My family fell apart after my brother died, and it's never been the same since.  But, as a Suzaku seishi, I found a __new family, and __new brothers to take the place of the one I lost.  I couldn't save Tarou, Miaka-san, but I __could save Nuriko.  I __did.  I had to."_

She was silent for a long time, the echoes of the words and images swimming in her vision, echoing in her ears.  _Soo ka.  Soo ka.  I understand.  Finally...I understand.  But...  "But, that's not Nuriko," she whispered.  "He looks the same, hai, and he has the same power, but...but, it's not him."  
  
_

Chiriko tilted his head.  "Iie, Miaka-san.  Sumimasen, demo...you're wrong.  That _is Nuriko-san.  Since we arrived, I've been doing some research in the palace library, and I think that I know what happened."  
  
_

A jolt of reluctant hope shot into her with the boy's soft-spoken confidence, and it was all she could do to gather enough breath to speak.  "Wh...what?"  
  


"Nuriko-san's soul was brought back from the Sky, Miaka-san.  Paradise.  But, he doesn't remember it at all!  He remembers fighting, and he remembers dying, but afterwards, he has no memory at all--and, the reason for that is because he's not _allowed to remember.  If he does, the longing to return to that paradise will be too strong for him to bear, and it will be difficult for him to live without longing for death.  And, I'm not...certain how it happened, but someone was able to block the memories of that paradise from his mind, so that he would be able to live after being brought back.  But, since he was reunited with his sister after his death, it would be next to impossible for him to remember her without also remembering the afterworld that they existed in together.  So, someone has completely blocked Nuriko-san's memories of his sister, so that he isn't able to remember.  But, Miaka-san..."  He smiled.  "Miaka.  That _is_ Nuriko.  He's alive, and even though a part of him is missing, he's still the same person.  Ne?"_

~*~

**Notes:  **Ahhhhh, just one more chapter to go!!  *gasp*  ^__^.


	11. 7. Risen.

**Disclaimer:  **.okiruN ro irohotoH od ron ,em ot gnoleb ton seod iguuY igihsuF

**Warnings:  **Gimme a shou!  Gimme a nen!  Gimme an ai!  Whaddazit spell?  

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_7.  Risen_.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

It was no surprise when he found himself just in front of Nuriko's door, staring at the smooth wood with longing in his heart.  

It wasn't longing for Nuriko in a romantic sense, he told himself firmly, it really wasn't.  Despite how perceptive Houki might've been on all the other things she'd spoken of tonight, that was one assumption that was entirely wrong.  No matter what hell he might've put this man through during their time together, Nuriko had become--particularly in the stretches of time when Miaka and the others were away from the palace--his best and truest friend among the seishi.  It had been difficult not to come to rely on the slightly-older man when he was always there, always ready to listen and care and say something that--no matter how dire his mood--somehow brought a smile to his lips.  Hai.  Hai, it was that Nuriko that he missed, with his smiling eyes and his wry, genderless voice that somehow brought comfort to his heart even during the darkest of times.  Was it wrong to admit that he missed his friend?

But...Nuriko had loved him, then.  

_Was that all it was?  Did he only pay such close attention to me because he was in love with me?  And, now...now that he doesn't love me anymore...have I lost him?  Great Suzaku, I took him so much for granted when he was here, always expecting him to be there when I needed him, always expecting him to be at my side when I was hurting or in need of someone to talk to.  I didn't realize how much I'd come to depend on him.  How could I?  He -was- always there.  But, then, he died...and, suddenly, all I wanted was for him to be with me, again.  I needed him more than ever then, because I was hurting so much...but, he wasn't there.  And, now he's back...but, he's not!  If he's not in love with me, he has no reason to be there for me, does he?  If he's not in love with me, then there's nothing in it for him, being my friend.  _

_Gods.  He doesn't even want to look at me anymore.  No wonder it hurts me.  No wonder I feel so...betrayed.  Nuriko...it's such terrible irony.  When you loved me, I kept holding my breath, waiting for it to pass, for you to realize that you could never be with me and move on.  I prayed to Suzaku that you would stop feeling that way...and, now, you have!  And, all I want is for you to love me again.  Is it selfish of me, to want that?  Even knowing that you -still- can never be with me?  Gods, that -is- selfish, isn't it?  I want you to be miserable again so you'll care enough to comfort me.  _

_Nuriko, I'm so sorry.  I've been such a fool._

Slim eyebrows pushing together in anguish, Hotohori shuffled backwards a few steps...and, then turned and started to walk back to his chambers.  

No.  Nuriko was better off without him.  Better off without loving him.  Better off without remembering!  He was free of the shadow of his sister, now, and free of the impossible love that had caused him so much grief over the past few years.  To try to force that to return, to try to make him remember just so he could have his friend back...it _was_ selfish, and it would be cruel of him to do such a thing.  So...so, he would move on.  He would forget.  He would let himself rely on Houki as he'd once let himself rely on Nuriko, because...because, that was how it was supposed to be, wasn't it?  A man and a woman, depending on each other, loving each other...having children and growing old together.  That was how it was supposed to--

He froze.  

Rising up through the air, coming from just behind him--_just behind him!_--was a shrill, bloodcurdling scream, harsh with agony and so chilling that for a long moment, he couldn't find the strength to breathe.  And, then, just as the words _that was Nuriko!_ lanced into his brain, he found himself spinning, walking, running, rushing to the door and flinging it open and stepping into the darkness inside with fear clenching in his heart.

_Not again, not again, please not again..._

It was so dark...and the screams, the screams were so loud, muffled only by the rustling of blankets and the thudding of thrashing limbs.  Irrationally frightened, Hotohori hurried to the bureau and grabbed up a candle, somehow managed to light it with his trembling fingers and jam it into a holder.  And, slowly, a flood of warm amber light flickered into the room, and he was able to turn with fearful eyes towards the bed, towards Nuriko...

It was still difficult to see, since the light of the candle was so small and the room so big, so he walked to the edge of the bed, set the candle down on the bedside table, and stood there for a moment trying to figure out what to do.

Nuriko's slim body, clad in the same gold-ribboned tunic that he'd been wearing earlier this afternoon, was tangled in a flood of blankets, growing ever more tangled as he thrashed.  His face was streaked in a mix of sweat and tears, and his eyes were squeezed tightly shut, his lips parted in the high, sobbing screams that had drawn his attention in the first place.  And--he frowned--the smaller man's hand was clutching at his throat, scratching at it as if trying to pry something from it.  The skin there was already red and irritated, and if he kept clawing at it, the young emperor was fairly certain that he was going to draw blood.

"Nuriko!" he exclaimed.   He lowered himself onto the bed, grabbed tightly onto the man's wrists and tugged them back from his throat.  "Nuriko!  Wake up!  Wake up!"

For a long moment, he was afraid that Nuriko was beyond his reach, that the power of the nightmare had dragged him so far away that he would never, ever wake up again...but, then, those violet eyes snapped open, and the thrashing--and screaming--came to an abrupt halt.  Nuriko's eyes were wide and clouded with fear, hazy with the pull of the nightmare, and he was trembling so badly that the mattress coils were squeaking out a shaky rhythm to his movements.  

"Nuriko..."  The relief flooded over him, made him feel shaky and breathless.  "Nuriko, daijobu ka?"  
  


Nuriko didn't answer.  Instead, he sprang up and fell heavily into his arms, clung to him so tightly that it was difficult to breathe for a moment.  The smaller seishi was still shaking violently, and as he curled up against his chest, Hotohori could feel the moisture of tears soaking into his robes.

"H-H-Hotohori-sama," Nuriko sobbed.  His fingers clutched at the fabric covering the emperor's back, gripping it as if letting go might send him tumbling back into the dream.  "H-Hotohori-sama, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry.  I-I saw you crying, but I couldn't reach you, I'm so sorry.  I-I tried to touch you but I couldn't and Kourin told me that I couldn't help you anymore, but I knew I could, so I took you to her and I hoped that you would love her and maybe you did, I don't know, but I wanted you to be happy, Hotohori-sama; I wanted you to be happy and so even though I loved you I showed you her and..."  He drew in a long, gasping breath, let it out in a sobbing hiccup.  "I was there that night, Hotohori-sama.  I was there guiding you to her and I was there when you talked about me, and I was there when she told you about Kourin and I was there when you cried, and I wanted to tell you that I was there but I couldn't; I'm so sorry..."

His muscles felt frozen; his mind was numb and spinning.  

_He was...he was there?  That night...he was with me?  He was..._

_Wait a minute.  _"Nuriko," he managed, "you remember?  You remember Kourin and..."

_Y ou remember that you loved me?_

"R-Remember?" Nuriko whispered.  His voice was muffled by the closeness of the robes, by the sobs still trembling in his throat.  "Hotohori-sama...how could I forget?  You were important to me.  I...I loved you.  Even when I was on that mountain top, fighting for Miaka and the shinzaho...I loved you.  And, I--"

Abruptly, the words cut off.  __

Somehow, instinctively, he knew that something had changed, that all the hopes that had suddenly been reborn in his heart were about to be shattered, that...that the Nuriko he'd just been speaking to was a phantom, a remnant of dreams of the past that were dead, now.  Dead.  And, despite himself, despite _knowing_ that Nuriko was better off this way, that he could finally be _happy_ like this...it still stabbed into his heart like a blade.

"H...Hotohori," Nuriko said in a low, uncertain voice.  The slender frame was tense against him, the muscles tight and rigid and pulling away from him.  "Hotohori-sama, what are you...why am I..."  

Nuriko moved quickly away from him, pressed his back into the headboard and stared at him with accusation in his eyes.  "What're you doing in my room?  And, why were you...why were you...?"  His eyes narrowed.  "Hotohori-sama, you may be the emperor, but you have no right to be in here."  
  


It hurt.  Seeing that suspicion in his eyes, that disgust bending at his lips...it hurt.  He knew he should stand up, apologize, and leave right now, but his muscles were frozen and wouldn't obey him.  So, he just sat there, perched on the edge of Nuriko's bed, and stared at the small seishi with a tender sorrow growing in his heart. 

"I should've seen it before," Nuriko continued shakily.  "E-Everyone kept saying that I was in love with you, but...this was what they meant, wasn't it?  You're...you're in love with _me_.  I should've seen it before.  But, Hotohori-sama--"  His eyes were hard, his voice firm and almost angry.  "--you have to know that this isn't _right_.  You have to know that I could _never_ love a...a _man_."  He closed his eyes, and his voice was startlingly cool.  "Please get out of my room.  And, I...I think it would be best if you don't come in here, anymore.  Ne, Heika-sama?"

The words bled from his lips with surprising speed.  "All right," he said simply.  "I'll leave."  He drew in a deep breath, tensed his muscles for the movement that would carry him out that door…out of Nuriko's room and out of his life.

_I can't make you remember, Nuriko.  This is the new you, I realize that, and I realize that the friend I knew is gone forever.  That's all right.  I can accept that.  But, I have to believe that he still exists somewhere inside of you.  He's still in there somewhere, alive perhaps only in your dreams, and even if I'll never see him again, the least I can do is...the least I can do is give him what he longed for all those years.  The least I can do is give him just one moment.  Just...one moment.  _

_I owe you at least that much, Nuriko._

And, so, he slid forward, touched his palms lightly to Nuriko's cheeks, and--before the other realized what he was doing--kissed him.

It was a light, soft kiss; there was no passion, no fiery longing, just...just a kiss.  Nuriko's lips were warm against his, parted slightly in shock or speech, and the rest of his body seemed frozen in disbelief.

And then, again...everything changed.

He became aware of something cool and salty against his lips, realized with a jolt that it was a tear--Nuriko's tear.  Startled and concerned, he pulled back from the kiss, drew his hands away from the other's cheeks and stared at him.  To his shock, Nuriko was crying...and smiling.  His eyes were wide and clear, swimming with tears but also with joy, and the sobs choking from his lips were warm with soft, tentative laughter.

Nuriko closed his eyes, then, squeezing a flood of tears down his cheeks.  "Hotohori-sama," he whispered.  "I waited for so long.  I...I waited for so long."  
  


It...it couldn't...it couldn't be...

"I tried to tell them that it wouldn't be better this way.  I tried to tell them that...that I needed to remember.  But, Kourin..."  His eyes slid open, still wet with tears but shining...shining.  "Kourin said it would be better if I couldn't remember, because...because it was beautiful up there, Hotohori-sama.  It was beautiful and there was no pain and even though I loved you, it didn't hurt, because I was happy.  Kourin said that if I remembered that happiness, I would never be able to be satisfied with my life here.  But...but, I wanted so badly to remember...and, I did, in my dreams.  Even if they faded away once I woke up, I remembered in my dreams, and I remembered...that I loved you."  
  


His mouth felt dry.  "But...but...how can you remember now?  I don't understand..."

Nuriko smiled at him, and the sight of that familiar grin nearly sent joyful tears to his eyes.  "It was you, Hotohori-sama," he murmured.  "Every moment I spent with you, it...it made it harder to forget.  I guess I...knew that, and so I tried to avoid you.  When you kissed me, though..."  His voice went soft.  "I couldn't forget, then.  And, even if it's hard...I never will again."

Smiling softly, Nuriko pushed himself forward, wrapped his arms gently around the young emperor's neck, and kissed him.  And, despite all that screamed inside of him, despite the fact that he'd been fully convinced that he loved Nuriko as nothing more than a friend only a few minutes earlier...Hotohori found himself kissing back...and, finally, finally, everything felt _right_.  

And, then, the door swung open with a crash, and suddenly they weren't alone anymore.

"What's going on?" came Miaka's shrill cry from behind them.  "W-We heard you screaming and we ran over here as quickly as we c--"

Stricken silence.  Then, Chiriko's soft, confused voice:  "H...Hotohori-sama?"

The tears still shining on his cheeks, Nuriko pulled back from him, and together, they turned to face their stunned friends.  Miaka's mouth was hanging limply open, and Chiriko was staring at them with wide, shocked eyes.

For a long moment, he tried to think of something to say, of words to explain the emotions surging through him, the joy and the love and the final, final knowledge that he was just where he was supposed to be...but, no words would come.   It was all right, though, because Nuriko spoke for him only a moment later.

"It's all right," he told the two in his soft, genderless alto.  "For the first time in a long time...it's all right."

_Finally.  Finally._

Hotohori smiled.  "Hai," he murmured, drawing Nuriko into his arms and holding him close.  "It is."

_~*~_

_owari._


End file.
